


Masquerade as the love of your life

by Quyinn



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Bossy Jaskier | Dandelion, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, D/s undertones, Dominant Jaskier | Dandelion, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Forced Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Geralt of Rivia is kinky for consent, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has a Big Dick, How Do I Tag, Idiots in lust, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Sings, Knotting, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Prince Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, The Amazing Devil Lyrics, except they really wanted to fuck so it's okay, forced mating, no beta we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24011962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quyinn/pseuds/Quyinn
Summary: “As you know, Nilfgaard is pressuring Kaedwen borders. Our lands are struggling.” Vesemir has his arms crossed over his chest, his face stony. “We have a very promising solution but it’s also our least favourable.”
Relationships: Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 64
Kudos: 891





	1. tales as old as time

**Author's Note:**

> a little self-indulgent excuse to write some fluffy fae jask interactions! 
> 
> enjoy :))

“The Fae are from tales of old, older than Witchers and Sorceresses. The Fae’s magic has been woven into the creation of the world that we know and live in today.” 

Adala’s voice is soft but dominates their room. It warms the stone floor of the keep, smoothing the roughness out of Geralt’s blanket. 

His narrow shoulders ached from the strain of the day, his fingers sore with newly formed callouses from gripping the hilt of his sword. He pulls his blanket tighter around him, Eskel’s arm settling over his shoulders. 

“The Fae were kind, benevolent creatures but one must not mistake their generosity for weakness. Once upon a many thousand years ago, the Fae ruled these lands, their magic flowed in the streams, swirled in every breath and grew in every blade of grass. But as they are known to, the humans sought a war with them.”

Lambert gasped against her legs, hazel eyes wide and bright. Adala smoothed his hair down with a soft hand, smiling gently. Lambert’s skinny little fingers twist in her apron. 

“Men are unkind, and had grown to distrust the Fae. You see, my dears, the Fae are creatures borne and made of chaos. Just like our mages, they possess the power to manipulate the chaos and twist it to their needs. This magic thrums through a Faeries' body, granting them functional immortality.”

“They can never grow old?” Voltehre asks her in an awed voice. The nursemaid hums with a kind smile. 

“If they want to, they will. Your lifespan will be sustained through similar magical means. The Fae are powerful, masters of Glamour. Your magic is controlled through your Signs is it not?”

Eskel clicks his fingers, a small flame dancing across his knuckles. He plays it over his hands, passing it to Geralt before letting it fizz out on Geralt’s palm. He tries to keep the jealousy off his face. Eskel had a knack for magic, even after one lesson his Signs were fluent, an extension of himself. 

Geralt couldn’t make them with a steady hand yet. 

However, rivalry between Geralt and Eskel wasn’t what the Elders had thought it would have been. Being a similar age, the boys bickered and fought but with such care that the Trials couldn’t burn out of them. The Trials weren’t a competition, Adala had told them the first night, Eskel creeping into Geralt’s bed. A competition implies that they might win. 

She had run her hands through Geralt’s dark locks, humming a soft tune. Geralt copied her motions on Eskel, scraping his nails over his scalp. While they may not share blood, Geralt knew they were destined to be brothers. 

“Well, where Witchers have learned to harness the elements to the best of their ability, the Fae have evolved. The chaos runs through their veins, granting them certain abilities. Their Glamour allows them to manipulate mankind. They can choose what you see, creating perfect illusions. You cannot trust what you see. Men are right to distrust the Fae.”

“Aren’t there any good Fae out there?” Geralt asks quietly. Adala winks at him with a knowing smile. 

“You always have been the softest one out of the five of you.” 

Geralt grumbles, Coën punching his arm gently. He leans further into his brother, kicking at Coën in retaliation.

“There might be good-hearted Fae out there, but never trust them ignorantly, my dears. They have become very good at manipulating and controlling mankind. If you were to ever meet one, there are certain rules; things you can do to keep yourself with a little control.”

Adala shifts in her chair. The fire crackles beside them, logs breaking down slowly. 

“Names. Names have power, my dears. Never give your name to a Fae, for it grants them control over you. They can make you do whatever they please. But never be impolite to a Fae. They will take it as insult.”

“Well, that’s stupid.” Eskel mutters. “How do you politely answer if they ask for your name?”

“Never _give_ them your name. The Fae cannot lie, so everything they say is a mix of riddles and half-truths. Do not trust what they say. Simply tell them they may call you a nickname, even if you have to make it up there and then. They can hear when you lie so do not give them a false name.” Adala sighs, wetting her lips as she thinks.

“My final warning, my dear cubs, is do not accept any gifts from the Fae. Do not eat their food if they offer it; you will become fae-marked.”

Lambert makes a questioning noise. He shuffles round to look up at her, leaning back on his elbows against Coën’s legs.

“This goes with any gift you accept from the Fae. The Fae will be alerted to your existence more strongly. Now, I’m sure you don’t want the Fae on your heels whilst you're out hunting, do you?” 

The boys shake their heads. Geralt fiddles with the corner of the blanket.

“Will we ever be able to trust the Fae again?” He asks shyly.

“I don’t think so, cub. Our treaty with High King Pankratz is one of shaky foundations, for peace and no more.” Geralt nods with a small frown. 

Adala reaches for the teal goblet at her tableside. Her face is pale but her mouth is twisted into a smile. Geralt thinks, if he could have a mother, it would be Adala. 

“Line up, dears.” 

Geralt gets slowly to his feet, Eskel draping the blanket over his shoulders with a grin. He watches Voltehre grimace as he drinks from the goblet, shrugging away Adala’s hand. Lambert is next, leaning into her legs as he sips, nose scrunching. Coën keeps hold of Lambert’s hand. 

“Come on, drink for me.” Adala presses a soft kiss to Coën’s forehead, Lambert squeezing their thin hands together. 

“Thanks, Ada.” Eskel smiles warmly at her as he drinks. Her hand runs fondly through his hair. “We’re glad you’re here.” Eskel speaks confidently, despite his sneer at the taste from the goblet.

Geralt tries to smile, the dark green liquid catching his attention. He swallows heavily, taking it from his brother in slightly shaking hands. 

Geralt coughs and splutters, the bitterness on his tongue taking him by surprise. Adala coos, rubbing his back.

“There, there. Breathe through it, cub. You’re doing great.” Adala’s warm amber eyes remind him of rum, filling him with affection. 

“Come now, my dears. Into your beds.” She smiles, her lip trembling. Geralt reaches up, pressing his palm to her cheek.

“We’ll be okay, Ada.” He murmurs. “Please don’t cry for us.” His mouth falls open as she breathes through a sob. She wipes at her face, kissing the top of his head. Adala guides him towards their beds.

Adala tucks each one of them into their narrow cots. She kisses their foreheads, one by one, wrapping Coën tighter in his blanket, fluffing Lambert's pillow. She blows a raspberry on Voltehre’s forearm, giggling with him. She lets Eskel squash the flames from the candle with a flourished wave of his fingers. She pauses by Geralt’s bedside, smoothing his dark hair away from his face. 

“Tomorrow will be tough on you all. Protect your heart, dear. It is the purest thing about you.” She smiles kindly but her eyes are full of tears. 

“This is not goodbye, cubs. I will see you all when you return.” 

Her voice is so strong and soothing, Geralt feels hope swell in his chest. He closes his eyes, hanging his arm out of bed to find Eskel’s outstretched hand. 

“We’re going to be so good tomorrow. I believe in all of us.” Eskel growls to the room. Geralt can hear the shuffle of covers, Lambert slipping under Coën’s blankets. 

“Good luck, brothers. See you soon.” There's a smile in Voltehre’s voice, but Geralt thinks it's forced. 

His eyes feel heavy. He squeezes Eskel’s fingers, feeling his brother’s tighten back. 

  
  


\----------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


They had been told the rules a few days prior. 

They will start out with a silver dagger and a bag. The bag is empty, apart from a half filled waterskin and a thin bedroll. This, like the other trials, has to be done alone. 

The Choice was the first of three excruciating Trials that the young Witcher apprentices were subjected to. The voluntary decision to follow a diet that would ready their bodies for the next trial, as well as gruelling physical training. 

The Trial of Grasses left the young Witcher's with lightning quick reflexes, enhanced vision, infertility, and a stronger form.

Only the five of them survived to the third Trial. Geralt could barely remember the tens of other boys that walked the halls of Kaer Morhen before succumbing to madness or dying. Painful screaming echoing through the walls. 

Voltehre took to the Trials well. He had a broad, stocky frame even before the Trials changed him. He was made for fighting, borne from knights of old. 

Lambert had a gentler touch, crafting potions and salves faster, easier than Geralt ever could.

Coën excelled at the signs, crafting them with fluidity and ease, as if he’s had them all his life.

Eskel had _Igni_ seared into his bones. He had such control over the simple flames, he once wrote his name in the air. That, and a very crude drawing of Vesemir, which earned him a belting for his troubles. 

All Geralt did was survive. 

Because that’s all the Trials are, he thought, crouching low. He casts _Yrden,_ trapping a rabbit, snapping its neck with an easy twist of his wrist. 

He had woken propped up against a tree. There was dirt stuck to his ass, twigs in his cropped hair and a chill settled under his skin.

He had been walking for hours. The smell of Kaer Morhen’s stone was in the air, giving him a path to follow at least. He prepares the rabbit with clean cuts, before gathering some brush and dried sticks to cook it over. 

Geralt eats quickly, hunched over like an animal, tearing into the meat with his fingers and teeth. Every rustle of the leaves above him, or cracked branch around him, leaves him on edge. He stomps out his small fire with a heavy boot, getting to his feet.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he shoulders his bag and set off through the trees once more. Geralt keeps his dagger tight to his side, scanning around him. He feels too short, too narrow as he walks, thick tree trunks flanking him.

He can hear running water between the whistle of winds through the branches. His feet ache, sighing in poorly concealed relief as a cascading waterfall comes into view. Almost empty waterskin sloshing in his bag, he steps towards the murky pool. 

A snarl catches his attention. 

He drops his bag, crouching into the low, defensive stance he’s been taught. Large, clawed hands crawl out of the water, sharp claws digging into the waterbed. Geralt groans tiredly, waiting for the creature to raise itself from the pool.

It is humanoid, sharp fins on its back and hollow eyes. It’s mouth is unhinged, yellowed teeth and seaweed hanging from its jaw.

Adala had told them stories about Drowners, creatures made of mud and scum. Their skin pale blues or greens, starved of oxygen, their primal hunger savage and insatiable.

He strikes quickly, throwing a _Yrden_ at its feet and stabbing his dagger down the length of its chest. He grunts as a hand grabs his ankle, another two creatures rising from the pool. Geralt blasts _Igni_ at the hand. The creatures are fast, flanking him on both sides. 

He struggles to form _Aard_ as one swipes at his free hand. He dodges away, but the other grabs his legs again. He rolls across the floor, his dagger slipping from his grip as he hits the ground. 

He growls low, as they advance, his dagger slipping into the pool. 

Geralt hurls blasts of _Igni_ at the creature, dodging their swipes and pinning them in place with _Yrden_ while the flames dance on their flesh. They seem to surround him, long, singed arms clawing at him. 

He snarls as one of them catches the meat of his shoulder, cutting deep into the leather. A wide arc of _Aard_ flies from his fingers, his other arm wrapping around the neck of the Drowner that struck him. He twists his body, gritting his teeth through the pain and snaps its neck.

The other one screams, charging at him. He dodges, dropping low and throwing _Igni._ Finally it falls to its knees in a foul-smelling pile. 

Geralt breathes heavily, blood pouring from his shoulder. He clamps a hand to it, feeling the long claw mark. It wasn’t deep, the blood flow already slowing. He peers over the edge of the pool, his lip curling. 

The dagger teased him, glinting a wink from the bottom of the pool. 

“Fuck.” He growls deep in his chest. 

He slips into the water, taking a deep lungful of air before diving down. The water is filthy but he scoops his dagger up, fingernails collecting mud from the lakebed. His elbow knocks against something wooden. He grabs hold of it on impulse before kicking up to the surface.

He pulls himself onto the waterbed, breathing heavily. Pain shoots through him as he lifts his arm to secure his dagger back in his belt. The forest seems quiet, the smell of drowners making his nose itch. 

Geralt could hear a faint heartbeat, lemongrass fresh in the air. 

He opens his eyes. 

A face hovers above his. Geralt’s fist flies up with a grunt but the figure yelps, jerking away. 

“Woah! No, thank you. Let’s keep our fists to ourselves, yes?” Geralt groans as he sits up, climbing to his feet. Geralt wipes the water from his eyes, looking to where the silvery voice came from. 

A boy, not much younger than him, stands barefoot in front of him. 

“I just thought I’d say thank you.” He smiles nervously, hands fidgeting in front of him. He’s wearing soft looking clothes, a flowing pink chemise covers his chest, wrapping tightly around his arms. His legs were clad in black breeches like a second skin. 

“Hmm.” Geralt holds the lute up by the neck. “Yours?” 

“Yes, I thought those horrible things would have kept it forever!” The man skips towards him, a grin splitting his face. Geralt grunts, handing it over. “Oh, you poor thing,” He croons, hands stroking down the sides of the lute. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“There’s no water damage.'' The wood isn't even wet. Geralt narrows his eyes, staring hard at the man. His eyes seem to glow blue. 

“Ah, you noticed.” The man smiles sheepishly.

Geralt slowly looks over him, the air around him seeming to vibrate. A faint yellow aura surrounds him. His bare feet are barely on the ground. The man holds his arms out nervously. 

“Ta-da!” He gestures over his shoulder to the Faerie ring around an old tree stump. Geralt takes half a step back, before grunting in pain. “Oh, no! Please don’t be afraid. I’m so grateful you rescued my lute! You must let me give you something for it.”

“It was nothing.” Geralt stares hard, clenching his teeth. The Fae’s eyes are earnest, his mouth dropping into a pink pout. He shoulders his lute, bouncing in the air.

“No, come on. What do you want?” 

“I want nothing.” 

He waves his hand, rolling his bright eyes. A roll of thin, almost clear thread appears in his hands, with a shiny needle. He starts to step forward.

“You’re bleeding out, and honestly it's making me uncomfortable. Let me help you-”

“No. I-” Geralt starts sharply. He clenches his teeth through a sigh. “I have to do this myself.”

“Do… what?” The Faerie asks lightly, threading the needle and taking hold of Geralt's wrist to lay them in his palm. “Who are you?” His gaze is curious, fingers stroking along Geralt’s. “Wait- let me guess! Dark leather armour… grumpy, violent disposition… a little… scarily sharp silver blade. I know who you are.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt glares at him, his eyebrows drawing down as the Fae’s feet kick in the air. The Faerie grins and claps his hands. He spins in the air, lemongrass turning warm and crisp.

“Oh, wonderful! It's been a while since I've had a Witcher peruse my little corner of forest. Are you doing that...Die trying to get back test?”

Geralt grunts, gritting his teeth as he starts slipping the needle through his skin. 

The Faerie starts to hum, his fingers dancing over the lute. Geralt digs the needle in harder. His voice seemed to float and hang in the air like a haze of perfume. It weighed heavy, wrapping around his shoulders like a blanket. 

“Well, I'm almost done here, dear Witcher. The water is clean and safe for drinking, if you’d like to refill your skin.” The Fae smiles, picking a rather pretty tune. 

“You’ve met Witchers before?” Geralt winces as he kneels to dip his waterskin into the pool. Crystal clear, he can see the bright plants at the bottom of the pool. 

“Oh, yes. Strong bloke, white hair and a scarred ol' face. He visits from time to time. Mostly to talk to my father or sister but he indulges me sometimes.” He blinks slowly, teeth pointed as he bites his lip. 

“He brought me the nicest sweets- they were like these little brown sugar chews and he would not tell me how to make them! He did mention he was getting a new litter of cubs, I just didn't think it would be so soon. How long has it been anyway? Months? Years? What is time anyway?”

“I should be going. On the clock, here.'' Geralt hopes his tone isn't as harsh as it feels against the backs of his teeth. 

“Oh, but you haven't accepted anything for returning my lute!” The Faerie seems to rush in front of him as he turns, feet barely brushing the grass. Geralt growls.

“You conjured thread for my wound and allowed me to drink from the waterfall. That is more than enough.”

“No, it isn't. Witcher, you have no idea how long that water would have been polluted for if it hadn't been for you. Let me give you something. At the very least, as a token of my gratitude.” His eyes are wide and bright. Hopeful.

“Why couldn't you have rid yourself of the drowner's? You managed to cleanse the water.” Geralt grunts before clearing his throat. “Forgive my abrupt ignorance. I have only seen magic at the hands of healers and mages.”

“Mages are actually very similar to us. the world blesses us with our magic.” He waves his hands, fluffy white weeds falling from his fingers. “We just utilise it differently.” 

Geralt ‘hmm’s, watching the flowers float, impossibly slow to the floor. 

The Faerie takes a piece of jewelry off his thumb. “Witcher, accept this.” He holds out the narrow, silver ring, far too delicate for his own thick fingers. 

“Look here,” The Faerie took his right wrist gently, sliding it onto his ring finger. “It fits just fine, take that pained look off your face. I do so hate to be indebted to someone.”

“This is too much.” Geralt goes to take it off but the Fae’s fingers tangle in his. 

“Call it an exchange. A gift of peace for your lovely conversation.” Geralt turns his hand, inspecting the ring. It has a small flower engraved into the surface. “And maybe your indulgence in one last question?” 

“That's your question.” Geralt shoulders his bag, turning on his heel.

“What's your name?” 

Geralt freezes. He had expected a Fae, if he were to ever encounter one, to ask him in some sort of trick or play on words or something. Not the odd abruptness that this Faerie has.

“Uh.” 

“You could call me Jaskier. If you like.” The Faerie, _Jaskier_ , rubbed the back of his neck, still holding Geralt's wrist. “In your tongue anyway.” He confirms Geralt's suspicion. 

“I don’t-” He sighs, looking at where Jaskier's fingers circle around his wrist. 

“I- I would just like to call you something different. Witcher gets boring after a while don’t you think?” Jaskier says lightly, running his fingers over Geralt's palm. “A name I can call you, and you alone.” 

“What’re you doing?” Geralt feels a strange weight fall over him, the smell of lemongrass becoming unbearable. 

“Bollocks! Sorry, I do that sometimes if I get distracted.” Jaskier twirls his fingers, seeming to drag the weight off him. He smiles in apology, running his index finger over the silver ring.

“How about 'Wolf'?” Jaskier strokes his fingers up Geralt’s arm, skating over his chest. His fingertips settle over the medallion on his chest. 

“Fine. You may call me Wolf. Forgive my suspicion, I've been told that you gain a certain amount of… control over people.” 

Jaskier giggles. His laughter floats in the air like windchimes, eyes sparkling. 

“All it is, is a little gentle persuasion. It depends on how badly I want something. Want to see what it feels like?” 

“I have somewhere to be, I don't have time for little tricks. Maybe if our paths cross again, Jaskier.” The Faerie laughs, taking his wide hand in his own once more. 

“Geralt? Is that you?” 

Geralt freezes, his eyes widening. Eskel’s heavy footsteps were fast, his smokey scent getting stronger. 

Jaskier smiles, pressing a kiss over the ring. He winks one bright, forget-me-not blue eye.

“Until next time, Wolf.” 

Geralt glances to the trees, voice cracking as he calls back. 

“Yeah!” 

When he turns his head, he’s alone in the clearing, the warmth on his skin barely there. A slight breeze carrying lemongrass and windchimes. 

He meets his brother half way, wrapping his arms solidly around him. 

“By the Gods, what happened to you?” Eskel takes a hold of his face, turning him in inspection. 

He hears a giggle in the wind. 

“Fuck off.” He mutters to both of them. Jerking a thumb to his shoulder, he claps Eskel on the back.

“Fucking-” Eskel breaths. He pulls Geralt's head to lay against his shoulder, checking the wound gently. “You did a piss poor job at this.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt lets himself relax a little into his brother. 

“Woah! A Faerie ring.” Eskel whispers. “I ain't ever seen one so… innocent before.“ And true to his word, the ring of toadstools surrounded the tree stump sweetly, fungus cradling the bark. White fluffy weeds had sprouted between the red caps.

“Yeah.” Geralt agrees warmly. “Come on, places to be.”

“Ugh, why even bother? Do you think Ada will let us have sweet rolls?” Geralt chuckles, Eskel's arm heavy over his shoulder.

  
  


\---------------------------------------------

He woke up with Eskel's weight heavy on his chest. He breathes deeply, smoothing a hand down his brothers back. He smelt of nettle soap, sandalwood smoke and the sweet roll Adala brought them for desert. 

“Alright, cub?” Adala whispered from by the fire. He opened his eyes, smiling softly at her. 

Lambert was curled in her lap, cheeks wet. He breathed deep into her shoulder, a blanket wrapped over the two of them. Geralt could see where he held the corner of the blanket, silver chain tarnished with blood wrapped in his hand.

Lambert was younger than his soft face gave away. He was at least six summers from Geralt, eight from Eskel. Coën was closer to his age, sharing Lambert’s carefree grin and bitten nails.

Voltehre was the eldest, the wisest. He picked up the younger two when they scraped their knees or slipped when training. He snuck Geralt and Eskel extra bread rolls up his sleeves when the first trial was complete, glaring them into silence. Contradicting his rough skin with warm pats on the shoulders. 

“I can’t seem to sleep well.” Geralt mumbled. He feels Eskel shift on his chest, grunting into his shoulder.

“You know, my mama used to tell me that if you can't sleep, it means you’re on somebody’s mind.” 

“Hmm. There’s nobody to think of me.” He sighs, letting his arms settle on Eskel’s back. 

Adala tuts, stroking her hands down Lambert’s back, tears spilling down his face as he slept. “It’s better than the other reasons, don't you think.” Her eyes are glossy as she looks to the two empty beds across the room. 

The beds are made. Pillows plush and blankets folded back. Cups of water waiting to be drank, settling stagnant.

Geralt swallows, a heavy weight creeping under his ribs. He presses the heels of his hands along Eskel’s spine, thanking whatever Gods that were listening for looking after at least two of his brothers. He curses softly at the ones that would understand his anger for not protecting them all.

“Ada? There’s such a thing as good Fae, right?”

“There’s good in everyone, my dear.” 

Geralt sighs against Eskel’s head. He shifts his weight, feeling Eskel tighten his grip in Geralt’s shirt, muttering wordless sounds.

He thinks of waterfalls. Smooth curves of lute, with smoother curves of narrow fingers, calluses on strings. Lemongrass forget-me-nots. Seaweed windchimes. 

His eyes slip shut. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i was thinking about the meeting for a solid week and i wanted to write it so desperately, it kinda turned into a multiple chaper situation so,,,, enjoy?


	2. eyes so bright in the firelight

The next time he sees his brother is knelt on the floor of the hot springs. Adala is sitting on a low stool, a bucket between her feet. She smooths back his sweaty hair, bleached white from the extra trials. 

His mouth tastes like acid.

Geralt smells sandalwood smoke before the owner even starts down the stairs. 

“Eskel.” He rasps. Only Ada can hear him. 

“Geralt! By the Gods, Geralt.” Eskel bursts into the room, skidding on bruised knees at his side. 

Geralt throws up again. 

He shivers, Eskel’s hand skating up his spine and rubbing circles into his broad shoulders. Geralt rests his head against Adala’s knee, heaving into the bucket. He waits for his vision to stop shaking as he forces himself to focus on his brother.

Eskel’s hair is almost as white as his, soft hay in the candle light. Geralt brings a shaky hand to press against his cheek. 

“Wasn’t the same without you.” He coughs, turning his head to spit bile into the bucket. 

Eskel’s grin drops at the corners of his mouth but he forces a chuckle. 

“I know.”

They had endured all three Trials together. 

Choice; Eskel coaxed him to eat the browning moss, smacking between his narrow shoulder blades when he choked on the dirt. Grasses; strapped in side by side, fire in his veins, his intestines twisting and strangling his stomach. Eskel had laughed louder than he had cried. He was the only boy that wasn’t frozen in pain, but his breath came in pants, _“Burns worse than whiskey. Whohoho!_ ”

Even the Mountain, Eskel had found him in that clearing, they sheltered pressed against each other around the small fire.

The Trial of Dreams, Vesemir called it, had him alone. The extra herbs and magic boiled his blood, burned his eyes gold, bleaching his hair and put so much toxins into him that hours after being brought to the baths, left him shaking and weak. He trembled in a body so mutated, so broad and strung with muscle and scars he hardly remembered receiving, a body so far from his own.

Eskel helps Adala slip him into the warm water. Adala holds his head, rubbing his back as he gags and shake. Eskel smooths soap down his chest, knuckles brushing against the silver chain around his neck. 

“That’s pretty.” He murmurs, splashing water over the medallion to wash off the suds.

“Hmm.” Geralt feels a surge of protectiveness as the ring lays sweetly beside his medallion. He can’t remember why. 

He groans, pitching forward into the familiarity of his brother. Eskel’s arms were stronger, corded with more muscle. How long had it been since they saw each other? Months? Years? What is time anyway? 

He growls, windchimes loud. He presses his palms against his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the world somehow spin around him.

Adala presses her hand to his sweaty forehead, tutting. 

“It’s okay, my dear. You two are so strong, huh?” She drops a kiss to Eskel's temple, stroking Geralt's hair. “How about we dry you up, and go get something to eat?” 

“Sounds good, Ada. What ya think?” Eskel tips Geralt's head up by his chin. His eyes are glossed over gold. “We’ll get some sugar in you. You’ll bounce right back to me, won’t you?” Eskel huffs a chuckle, pressing their foreheads close. 

There were tears in his golden eyes.

But Eskel was right. 

It was months before Geralt would say much more to him than some non-committing grunts, almost a year before Geralt could easily laugh and smirk. Eskel’s hands stayed warm on his skin.

  
  


\----------------------------------------------

  
  


The two of them were strong, so much stronger than Vesemir predicted. Their first time out of Kaer Morhen since the trials was together. They hunted side by side, moving with practised grace. 

Geralt knew Eskel’s body like his own. In battle, he was just an extension of Geralt. This time was no different to the others.

They hunted a pack of nekkers. Eskel surrounded them with white hot fire, Geralt cutting through them rhythmically, escaping with nothing more than a thin scratch on his calf. 

The nearest village was a few hours ride away and dark had already fallen. Geralt strokes along his mare’s nose, securing her underneath a sheltered tree. Eskel coaxes Scorpion beside her. He smooths a thick blanket over his back, patting Roach as he sets up camp.

They settled around the fire, Geralt oiling his sword. Eskel busies himself poking delicate holes through nekker teeth. 

“You can’t say Lambert won’t think this will be a pretty necklace.” Eskel pointed a tooth at him accusingly. Geralt snorted with a shake of his head. “They won’t stop fucking breaking!” Eskel growls.

“Slow down. Have you got a needle?” Eskel glares. Geralt huffs a laugh, finding one out of his pack. 

“Wolf? Darling, is that you?” 

Eskel’s head snaps up. His lip curls in a snarl, thick fingers wrapping around his dagger hilt.

Geralt holds his breath, lemongrass floating through the air.

“Oh, wonderful! How long has it been?” 

“What is time, anyway?” Geralt mutters dryly. He reassures Eskel with a raised eyebrow and a roll of his eyes.

“See? You get it.” Jaskier wanders out from behind the trees, bare feet brushing the floor. “Hello!” He waves at Eskel, floating over to the log next to Geralt. 

Eskel stares between them. Geralt clenches his jaw, pouring more oil onto the cloth before wiping it across the blade.

“Brother, this is a Fae. Faerie?” Geralt raises an eyebrow curiously. 

“I suppose so, yes.” Jaskier smiles brightly. “You may call me Jaskier. Has your brother not mentioned me?” 

“No.” 

Jaskier frowns for a second. He quickly smooths out the turn in his lips with a chuckle. 

“Oh, that’s fair enough. I can’t imagine Wolf to be very chatty. What may I call you?” Jaskier sticks a hand across the campfire. Eskel tips his chin, growling low. 

“I’m sometimes known as the Dragon of Kaer Morhen.” Eskel raises an eyebrow, the flames spitting higher. Jaskier jumps with a yelp, the air cradling him.

“Very impressive, Dragon. So what is my favourite Witcher doing out in these very scary woods?” Jaskier plops himself at Geralt’s side. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Oh, sure. Almost definitely. I’m trying my hand at travelling. That's where bards get their best stories from isn't it? But I’d much rather have a conversation with you.” He smiles brightly, his eyes twinkling. 

“Hmm.” Geralt elbows him as he leans to grab the rabbit off the spit. 

“Rude! You’re lucky I like you, dearheart, because you know where we’d be if I didn’t?” 

“In blessed silence.” 

Eskel barks out a laugh, taking the second rabbit. He uses his dagger to tear the meat, carefully picking out bones. Geralt watches his brother with a fond warmth in his chest.

“Nah, I don't really go for that.” Jaskier leans against Geralt’s shoulder, swinging his lute into his lap. He picks a familiar tune. 

“Is that the only one you know?” Geralt grunts through a mouthful of slightly charred meat. Jaskier giggles, wandering fingers carding through Geralt’s hair. 

“No, I just thought you’d like this one. I hardly recognise you with all your… growing. It’s good. You look lovely, darling.” Jaskier doesn’t seem to realise he’s talking, his gaze fixed on the white strands threading through his fingers.

“Fuck off, bard.” Geralt sighs, stretching his legs towards the fire. Jaskier scowls, taking his hands back to the smooth curves of his lute. 

“You don’t actually want me to. Do you? I don’t think you do.” He spoke confidently, strumming a jaunty tune. "I can see it in your pretty gold eyes, y'know." Geralt groans, scrubbing his gloved hand over his face. The cool leather grounds him slightly, the smell of lemongrass seeming to dance with the smoke in the air. 

“You want first watch?” Eskel offers, wrapping some leather cord around his hand. Geralt nods, holding his hand out. 

“Okay, don’t laugh.” Eskel relents, setting the necklace in his palm. The tooth had a small crack in it, the leather tightly knotted at the root. 

“He’ll love it.” Geralt tells him. He ran his finger over the sharp cut of the tooth. 

“No, it’s all…” Eskel waves his hands. “It could be better.”

“Do you want it to be?” Jaskier’s voice is small, not as confident as he was talking to Geralt. “I could…” Jaskier moves his hands, mirroring Eskel. “Maybe smooth out the crack and strengthen the leather or something?”

“No.” Eskel snatches it back. 

“Okay.” Jaskier rests his elbows on his knees, leaning his head against Geralt’s bicep. Geralt ignores the weight of him, instead watches his brother get up and tuck the necklace away into a small pouch on the saddlebags. 

“Wolf, my darling, if you wanted to rest as well, I’m more than happy to take watch for you both.”

“Appreciate it, Jaskier, but we’re fine.” 

“I can tell you’re tired.” He says softly. “I can see your aura.” 

“Get your nose out of my aura.” 

“I can show you, if you like.”

Eskel growls, laying out his bedroll. 

“Why would I want to see my aura?” 

“I don’t know.” Jaskier huffed, smoothing his hands down his lute. “I-”

“He wants to show off. It’s called flirting, brother.” Eskel grumbles. “A Fae is flirting with you.” Geralt can hear how his lip curled.

Jaskier’s face is flushed, his hands shaking ever so slightly against his lute. Geralt frowns at the ache in his own chest as Jaskier's scent seems to sour with embarrassment.

“Jaskier? Show me.” Geralt tips his head to the side, watching the Fae’s mouth drop open. 

“I can do that.” He smiles small, and holds out his hand. Geralt takes it with a huff. “Okay, you’re going to feel a slight pull at the backs of your eyes.” Jaskier lays his lute down, swiping his fingers over Geralt's brow. 

“Feel it yet?” 

“Hmm.” 

“Darling, that’s not helpful.” He stills his fingers until Geralt nods. The pull is barely there, making his eyes itch. “Thank you. Close your eyes for me. You’re not going to look at your brother once this is done. I’m getting the slight feeling he’s not very trusting when it comes to Fae and we’re going to respect that, okay?”

“Hmm.” Geralt clenches his jaw, Jaskier’s scent getting stronger.

“Okay, you should be able to see a little now.” Jaskier breathes out heavily when Geralt opens his eyes. “What you’re seeing is a very dialled back version of what I can see.” 

Jaskier seems to glow yellow. 

“Everyone has different levels to their aura. What you're seeing is the physical body, the colour represents feelings. What colours do you see?”

“You’re yellow. I’m… red? Dark red.” Geralt turns their hands, watching the colours blur together around their laced fingers. 

“Your red, specifically means you’re very strong-willed. I think you’re one of the strongest people I know.” Geralt’s nose scrunches. “No, seriously, darling. You’ve let a Fae wrap you in their Glamour and there is no fear on your skin.” 

“I could say the same to you. You approached two armed Witchers.”

“Well, I hope you have two arms.” Jaskier chuckles. “Oh, come on.” Geralt raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“The trees are orange.” 

“The trees hold power and vitality. They deserve to be orange.” Jaskier rubs his thumb over Geralt’s knuckles. His warmth leeches through the leather, making Geralt's skin burn sweetly.

“I can see you’re tired, dearheart. Won’t you rest?” 

“Hmm.” 

“Close your eyes for me.” Jaskier smiles, bringing his hand back to his temple.

“Is it stressful? Letting me see what you do?” Geralt lets his eyes close once more.

“Not really, I’m pretty good with my Glamour. There, all done.” Jaskier kisses his forehead, pulling away from him. 

“Thank you. For that.” Geralt swallows awkwardly.

“Psh, don’t be silly, darling. Please won’t you rest for a little? I’ll keep you two safe.” 

Eskel growls low from his bedroll. Geralt huffs, laying his bedroll out underneath him. 

“Oh, quench your smoke, Dragon. Settle down, both of you.” He chastises them as if they’re children. He picks at his lute, resting back in the air.

“Hmm.” 

Jaskier shushes him, pausing his strumming to press a hand in Geralt’s hair. 

“Rest your head, my darling.” Geralt grumbles a little, turning on his side to pillow his head on his arm. 

Jaskier hums softly just above him. He feels Eskel shuffle around the fire. He rearranges his bedroll, moving to lay at Geralt’s back. 

“Do you remember…?” His brother mumbles as Geralt shifts on his back, slipping an arm around him. 

“Yeah.” He smiles softly up at Jaskier’s curious gaze. 

“Our nursemaid when we were boys, she was like a mother to us.” Eskel sighs heavily into his shoulder, tucking his blanket tight over his face. 

“I can stop?” 

“No, please. It’s nice to remember her.” Eskel whispered. Geralt thought about Vesemir’s face, the hard line of his mouth, the solid stone of his hands when he patted their shoulders. It was so different from Adala’s soft hands, her sweet smile. “What would she say if she could see us now?” Eskel laughs almost wetly. Geralt knew he was thinking of the same thing.

“I think she would smack us for being so reckless. To trust a Fae with no evidence of innocence, just his smile.” Geralt watches as Jaskier plays softly, his smile wide. “She always wanted us safe. I think it broke her heart to see us go through the Trials.” 

Geralt swallows with a grimace. Eskel presses tighter to his side, arm a comforting weight over his chest. 

“Mm.” Eskel huffs into his shoulder. Geralt stares up at the sky as his brother’s breathing begins to even, counting the stars, despite the hide-and-seek game they play. He catches forget-me-not blue eyes, a smile sleepily spreading on his face. 

“ _The wrinkles and bricks that we’re left with at last_

_And drink will fix all those questions unasked_

_Who died and made you king of it all…?”_

Jaskier sang softly and dragged out the words. He danced his fingers across the neck of the lute as he dips in the air to press a kiss to the tip of Geralt’s nose.

_“Now the wind is so warm on the back of my neck_

_As I walk with the sun hand in hand from the wreck_

_Some fictions we took to mean fate_

_Believe me, I know…”_

Geralt felt his eyes close, Jaskier’s words washed over him.

“You’ll do well as a bard.” He murmurs without meaning to.

“ _Thank you my darling, that means a lot to me_

_For your musical ear is one I’ll take with heed_

_Now, my Wolf, close your eyes, breathe deep and just sleep…”_

  
  


\-------------------------------------------------------

  
  


They part ways early in the morning, the sun cracking the horizon.

Eskel grabs Jaskier’s forearm in a tight grip, shaking firmly. 

“Stay hot.” Jaskier winks at him, squeezing his forearm in return. He floats over to where Geralt is attaching his bedroll to his mare. 

“And you, dearheart.” Jaskier idly picks out a twig from Geralt’s hair. 

“Hmm?” Geralt glances at him. 

“Be good, won’t you?” Geralt laughs, turning to face the bard. “I'm serious! My friend, I do worry for your safety- given your line of work.” He smacks Geralt's arm, mouth pulled into a pouty frown. 

“We're not friends." Geralt sighs. He bumps his elbow against Jaskier's shoulder as he checks his bags. "I’ll do what I can, Jask.” He hums as Geralt says his name. He takes Geralt's right hand, kissing over his gloved knuckles. Geralt feels his eyes soften as Jaskier smiles up at him. 

“Until next time, Wolf.” 

And as quickly as he arrived, Jaskier disappeared into the trees.

The Witchers break camp in a comfortable silence. 

“Well, he seems nice.” Eskel smirks. 

“Fuck off.” Geralt swings himself up on Roach. 

“No, really. I like him. He likes you a lot.” Eskel quirked an eyebrow, mounting his stallion. His brother grumbles, nudging Roach into a leisurely walk.

Geralt finds himself humming Jaskier’s tune as they ride the trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know esk has brown hair in the game but im obsessed with him n geralt lookin more like brothers yknow, i love their relationship so muchhhh
> 
> well 2nd chap in n not a hint of plot, will there ever be one? i highly doubt it
> 
> hope u liked this chap :'))


	3. making merry on misfortune

“As you know, Nilfgaard is pressuring Kaedwen borders. Our lands are struggling.” Vesemir has his arms crossed over his chest, his face stony. “We have a very promising solution but it’s also our least favourable.”

“Cintra and Skellige have no more they can provide for us, and if we were to rely on either of them any more than we already do-” Vesemir looks over each of them, the skin around his eyes tired and strained. “We will fall with them.”

“The Fae king has offered an alliance. A stronger one, where their people can be protected and our borders grow with defence.”

Geralt feels his eyes widen. It must have been decades since he had last seen a Fae. Ciri crosses her arms. 

“Uncle Ves, every story you’ve taught me about the Fae has been based on never trusting them.” She mirrors his stance, hardening her gaze.

“I know, cub. Believe me, I know. It's a difficult situation. If we don't accept their offer, I fear our country will die. Nilfgaard is strong and ruthless and will not take mercy on our people. You know this first hand. This alliance with High King Pankratz will stop more lives being lost, and will protect what little secrets we have left in these walls. There's, ah… conditions to this alliance.”

“Which are?” Eskel growls from the side of the room. He leans against one of the stone walls, lips pulling the scarred skin into a snarl.

“To make Nilfgaard recognise the true power of this alliance, and to ensure our people trust the Fae and don't revolt, the High King has suggested a marriage. One of mine, for his.”

Geralt wraps his arm around Ciri, pulling her into him. She may not be the scared child he found her as, but the protectiveness runs beside his blood.

“You don't mean-” 

Vesemir holds up a bony hand. 

“We need this alliance, Geralt. The Fae prince will have his choice of all four of you. I truly am sorry.” Vesemir turns on his heel, head bowed as he leaves the common room.

Eskel presses a kiss to Lambert’s temple, smoothing his hair back. 

“Don’t panic, love.” He whispers low, arms tight around Lambert's waist. Geralt holds Ciri closer. The room sours, his child’s beautiful juniper scent bitter and angry.

  
  


\---------------------------------------------------------

  
  


They stand, shoulder to shoulder in matching black tunics, tight leather breeches and bulky boots. Their medallions glint in the afternoon sun. Geralt’s hair was freshly washed, his hands on Ciri’s shoulders. She wears a soft blue dress, warm brown boots on her feet. They each wear half masks, as Fae tradition.

Geralt’s is a soft white wolf mask, Ciri’s matching but in a cream. Eskel’s is a lacy mess forming a dragon over his eyes, hiding the harsh scar. Lambert’s had him keeled over the first time he saw it, tears in his eyes, feathers dusting the sides of his deep green mask, a hooked beak where his nose is. Vesemir’s is a harsh grey, material worn and old. 

They watch as figures trickle out from the treeline. They looked human, dressed in fine clothes, elaborate lace masks covering their features.

The King has a black mask, covering his face like a second skin. There is gauze over the eyes. It matched the Prince’s, a less grand design. The Fae that flank them wear white lace, some only half masks, others covering half of the mouth. 

As the Fae approach, Geralt pulls Ciri tighter to his side, her hand coming to rest on his. He tries to keep from curling his lip, cloaking magic burning his nose, blocking any scent on the Fae.

“Greetings. You may call me Raven.” The High King bows low. “This is my son, known as Dandelion.” Geralt could see the prince’s slight flinch at the name. He fights a frown.

Vesemir came forward, a grey wolf mask tight over his eyes.

“Welcome to our home. Raven, Dandelion. You may call me Alpha.” 

Dandelion steps up, holding out his hand to Eskel. 

“You may call me Dragon.” He spoke confidently beneath his red mask, pressing a kiss to the prince's knuckles.

“You may call me Eagle.” Lambert’s hand shook a little as he took the Prince's hand, kissing his knuckles briefly. 

Ciri was next, wedged tight between Geralt and Lambert. The prince took her hand in both of his, squeezing gently. 

“You- you may call me Lady.” Her voice cracks but the prince nods softly. Geralt thinks if they could see his mouth, he would be smiling. The kind way he rubs his thumb over Ciri’s wrist is gentle and encouraging.

“You may call me Wolf.” Geralt blinks in surprise as the prince takes his hand, running his thumb over the thin band of silver on his little finger. Geralt clenches his jaw, dropping a kiss to the prince's knuckles. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


The ball was fine. 

The prince was missing, but Geralt couldn’t blame him. The room was full of people, drinking and making merry on misfortune. The King and Vesemir had shared a dance, before retiring to some chairs around the fireplace, tankards in hand. 

Lambert and Eskel were twisted in the centre of the room, moving so fluidly together, Geralt could barely tell where one of them started and the other ended. He dances with Ciri, twirling her under his arm, and dipping her to hear her giggle behind the mask.

The bards paused to drink, the crowd of Fae and Kaedwen split from their pairs. Lambert and Eskel stood chest to chest for a long moment, Eskel’s hands tight on the younger's waist. 

The music starts up again, Eskel sidling up beside Geralt. His hands touch lightly over his brother’s waist, fingers tapping up his arms before slipping in between his and Ciri’s hands.

“May I cut in, my Lady?” He bows low, holding his hand out to her. Laughing, she let him spin her out onto the floor. The sound of lutes and flutes and strings fill the air.

“How’re you doin’?” Geralt settles his arm over Lambert's shoulder. He leans into Geralt with a sigh. 

“I think I'm scared.” He mumbles low, forehead pressed to the side of Geralt’s head. The mask material scratches at his skin but Geralt squeezes him gently. “I’ve faced a griffin and not felt so terrified.” Geralt hums, rubbing his thumb over the crown of Lambert's head.

“Hmm. It’s gona be okay.”

“Odds are it won't be. Worst case, the Fae takes our cub. It's more likely I’ll be left heartbroken.” He stares out with wet eyes to where Eskel has Ciri lifted from the floor. They laugh as he lets her fall a few inches, before pushing up on extended arms. 

“( _I’m at the brink, don’t laugh_

_At the winks I’ve masked_

_Who’ll save you when you fall?)”_

Geralt sighs as a more joyful song starts up. He tugs on the fashioned beak of Lambert’s dark green mask with a soft chuckle. A soft, silvery voice floats over the crowd.

_“[The wrinkles and bricks that we’re left with at last_

_And drink will fix all those questions unasked_

_Who died and made you king of it all?]”_

He sees Eskel glance to the bards, as he stares towards the stage himself. 

There's a Faerie woman with beautifully shining hair, a white mask over her eyes. She’s wearing a tight black dress that flows down her legs, barefoot. The man behind her wears tight breeches, turning as he sings zealously fingers teasing a lute. A buttercup yellow mask covers familiar eyes, his brown hair fluffy and messy. They sound beautiful together, the woman soft and sweet, her fingers skating over his shoulders. 

And Jaskier…

Jaskier’s voice holds so much power, Geralt can feel his words in his bones. His teeth hurt. 

_“(Who wins this war? You’ve a knack_

_For applause from the back of the stalls but you lack_

_The conviction to look at me straight and say yes)”_

“ _[Now the wind is so warm on the back of my neck_

_As I walk with the sun hand in hand from the wreck_

_Some fictions we took to mean fate. Believe me I know]”_

Her hands run through his hair, leaving it dishevelled in a way Geralt felt a growl crawl up his throat. She strokes his cheek, pushing him away as they launch into their next shared verse. 

“ _(Don’t be uncouth, be a man_

_Don't lie with your eye, you know I despise that look_

_You’re home for God’s sake, I’m)”_

_“[Tell me the truth love, does my hair look as nice_

_As it did when it once tangled up in your eyes?_

_Look at me as you say this, you don’t need to go]”_

“ _(Done with your dreams, they won’t last_

_Thirty winters will pass, you’ll look back_

_At the woman 50 years old you will be proud to have known)”_

“[ _‘Cause that sun that beams down as my hands touch the grass_

_After summers of fasting I feel hunger at last_

_For the person 15 year old me would be proud to have known]”_

Jaskier catches his eye, winking, his voice full of feeling. Geralt is suddenly glad his mask covers his cheeks as heat rushes to them.

The woman’s hands wave, forming disks of sparkling light. As they form slowly, she flicks her wrists, sending them to the floor where they shatter into nothing. 

“ _[‘Cause these plates they smash like waves]_

_(Place your smile in mine)_

_[And the wine stains hide the tears]_

_(Why stay? Hide the)_

_[But that]_

_Breathing you hear, don’t mistake it for sighs_

_Don't you realise? They’re just battle cries, dear.”_

Geralt can’t help but softly smile as Jaskier’s knees bend. He sinks low, the woman’s arms coming to hold his head as they sing, one fisting in his hair, pulling his head back to bare his throat, the other slipping in the deep V of his shirt. Jaskier was beautiful. 

_“[And these lines aren’t wrinkles, dearheart]_

_(Hardly knew the words)_

_[They’re just dollops of paint on a new work of art]_

_(I’m dolled up, love, don’t I deserve to just)_

_[And as I]”_

Jaskier straightens, her hands at his narrow waist, throwing her head back. Jaskier grins as he sings. Every time he meets Geralt's eyes, it seems to get impossibly wider. His voice is strong and dominating, the room enchanted by the dance of his slender fingers over the lute.

_“Walk away, I know I’ve been through the wars_

_But that creaking you hear in my bones is not pain_

_[It’s applause]”_

He falls to his knees again, chest puffing as his voice echoes in the hall. The woman mirrors him across the stage, her hands in front of her. They tip their heads back, singing over each other perfectly.

“ _(Come on love, please don't start_

_Sing your notes, play our part_

_Then we’ll leave. We were Gods)”_

“ _[With you I could summon the Gods and the stars_

_Watch them dance out the plays that we wrote from the heart_

_And we’d laugh at the ghosts of our fears. We were kids.]_ ”

They spin on their knees, Jaskier raising himself up with rolls of his hips, lute cradled into the curve of his body. The woman follows, raising her arms and stamping her foot. Geralt’s knees ache.

“ _(‘Come at me you blaggard’ you’d yell_

_From the back of the gallery_

_Say goodbye. I am not)”_

“ _[‘Come at me you blaggards’, you’d yell from the banks_

_Welding words against make- believe wizards and tanks_

_And by God, love, believe me, I wanted to play too. I did.]”_

Jaskier’s voice cracks in the last line, his eyes scrunched up as she holds his face.

“( _A drunkard, A daughter, A preacher God knows how you_

_You dragged us both into the darkness that grows_

_Oh dear God. I won’t)”_

“ _[But we sunk into water no creature can know_

_You dragged me along to watch all of your shows_

_Our devils broke rank, and out of our depths came an army]”_

She takes a hold of his shirt, he faux growls at her as she pulls him close. He’s pushed away, bending at the knees as he bits his lip, seeming to stare straight into Geralt’s golden eyes. 

“ _(Leave without a fight)_

_[I won't let you turn our last night into this]_

_I’m going to play from a stage, drink wine, reminisce_

_This isn't a break up, dearheart, it’s a theatre finale.”_

The woman throws her arms out, her hair covering her face. Disks form along her arms and Jaskier’s shoulders. They both bend their knees, the disks falling and shattering as they sing.

“ _[‘Cause these plates they smash like waves]_

_(Place your smile in mine)_

_[And the wine stains hide the tears]_

_(Why stay? Hide the)_

_[But that]_

_Breathing you hear, don’t mistake it for sighs_

_Don’t you realise? They're just battle cries, dear.”_

Geralt manages to take his eyes off Jaskier to catch Ciri in his arms. 

“Cub?” She has tears in her eyes, a smile on her face. 

“They’re amazing!” She breathes into his neck. He hums, pulling her tight to his side. Eskel follows her, clapping Geralt’s shoulder with a wink before whisking Lambert back. Geralt can’t fight his grin. Eskel never seems to smile as much as he does when the younger Witcher is in his arms. 

“ _[And these lines aren’t wrinkles, dearheart_

 _(Hardly knew the words)_ ”

“Dearheart.” He whispers to Ciri, holding her close as he spins them in a slow circle.

“ _[They’re just dollops of paint on a new work of art]_

_(I’m dolled up, love, don’t I deserve to just)_

_[and as I]”_

_“Walk away, I know I’ve been through the wars_

_But that cracking you hear in my bones is not pain,_

_[It’s applause]”_

_“(It’s not pain)[It’s applause]_

_(It’s not pain)[It’s applause]_

_It’s applause”_

Jaskier falls again, hunched over, his forehead almost touching the floor. The lute is flawless. 

“[ _All it took to unearth in this dust and the dirt_

_Some release or respite from the heart and the hurt_

_Was taking the time now and then to ask how I am]_ ”

He sits back on his heels, throat bared as he sings. 

“ _[And now at the end]_

_(At the end of all things)_

_[I’m not going to scream, beat my chest at the wind_

_I’m doing fine]”_

His voice falls to a near whisper, chest heaving as his fingers still on his lute. The woman stands behind him. Her hands are on his shoulders, sweat dripping down his throat. 

Geralt swallows heavily as the room explodes in applause. Geralt claps with his hands behind Ciri’s back. 

Geralt lets his lip pull back over his teeth as Jaskier brings his head forward, meeting his eyes. He returns Geralt's wide smile, the woman's hands under his arms to pull him to his feet. His knees shake visibly as he bows low. 

Jaskier and the woman link arms, leaning against each other as they each take a glass of wine, drinking greedily.

“Ladies and gentlemen! May I ask for your attention, please.” Vesemir's voice drowns out the applause. “Thank you for a flawless performance. May I have the Wolves of Kaer Morhen join me.” 

Geralt looks to Eskel, slightly alarmed. When he glances around the room, Jaskier and the women were gone. He keeps his arm around Ciri as they cross the hall to stand beside Vesemir and the High King. He adjusts the mask over his eyes, his skin slightly sweaty. 

“We wait on Dandelion and his choice.” The King smiles but it seems more of a grimace.

Geralt squeezes Ciri in reassurance, his cub tucking her face into his neck briefly.

“The White Wolf of Rivia!” 

Double doors across the room fly open. Dandelion comes floating out, his arms flung wide apart, black lace mask covering his face. He wears a soft pink chemise and black breeches, dark doublet unbuttoned. The Fae seem to stiffen as his name is cried out. Geralt fights against a smirk as the High King audibly swallows. 

Geralt clenches his jaw, raising his chin. 

“Tell me, be honest. How’s my singing?” Dandelion tips his chin, the gauze over the eyes of the mask torn out. Beautiful forget-me-not blue stares back. 

Geralt steels himself, unable to look away.

“It’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling.” 

Dandelion falls back in the air as if Geralt punched him in the gut. The Witcher can’t help feeling smug as the entire hall gasps. Vesemir tenses to his left, Eskel muffling a laugh on his right.

The prince splutters, surging forward. Geralt instinctively pushes Ciri behind him, closing the distance between them with a long stride.

“Have you no respect for your future husband?” He pokes a long finger in Geralt’s chest. 

Geralt catches his hand, turning their palms. “You’re wearing it.” The prince spoke softly. Geralt could barely hear him through the tremble of his lip. 

“It was a gift.” Geralt stresses, hoping Jaskier will know he means more than the ring. “I- uh, it was hard keeping it undamaged. I’m not good with precious things. Just letting you know.” 

“You better learn how to mend them, then.” Jaskier whispers. Then, louder, “My choice is final. The White Wolf will be my husband.” 

Jaskier raises their joined hands. His pink lips stretch into a grin as their people applaud.

“The decision is final. Music!” The Fae King claps Vesemir’s shoulder, waving his other hand.

“Jaskier, you bastard.” Geralt mutters as Jaskier pulls him close, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s shoulders. 

“Yes, darling.” Geralt slowly walks in a circle, his hands falling to the prince’s waist. Geralt couldn't help pulling him closer to him. 

“You fucking bastard.” Jaskier laughs beautifully, stroking his fingers through Geralt’s hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is that *squints* plot? no? ah well who's surprised 
> 
> i had a lot of fun with this chapter, hope you enjoyed it :))


	4. my favourite colour is the smell of you on my skin

Geralt can't breathe.

His shirt is too tight, the armour over top is too heavy, crushing his ribs. His medallion burns through the leather, too shiny, too clean. His hair is neat and free down his back, Ciri had braided half away from his face.

His feet creak on the wooden stage, wind blowing around the training grounds. The walls had been decorated with banners and Fae representatives form an aisle. There is a Fae officiate standing to the side of Geralt, clad in ornate bronzed robes.

Eskel squeezes his shoulders, smacking his palms down. He winks, grinning supportively. 

Jaskier floats between the rows of chairs. His bare feet brush the petals littering the aisle. He wears a beautiful pastel pink chemise, lace gripping his arms and his legs are bare underneath his skirts. His face is beautifully made up, hair styled.

Geralt swallows, lump in his throat sticking.

The King floats beside him in shimmery silver robes. The Fae stand, hands clasped in front of them, masked heads bowing in respect.

They stop before the few steps up to Geralt, taking the prince’s hand in the King’s. 

“The power of the Earth is present with us today to bless this joining. My son, you’re brave and smart and I know the day you rule with a Witcher is the day faith is restored in both Fae and Humanity.” 

He lets go of one of Jaskier’s hands, reaching for Geralt’s. The Witcher quickly strips his gloves, passing them to Eskel.

“You have picked a heart that reflects yours. Honest, strong, pure. You are to unite with the Wolf as his mate for life. His husband.” He passes Jaskier’s hand into Geralt’s. His skin is warm and soft. Geralt sucks in a breath. 

“Dearheart, from the moment my eyes met yours, I felt the strings of fate unwind, knotting themselves together in frantic hopes we may meet once again. You were tucked away, in your own secure corner of this world, waiting with the patient of a saint for our time together. Now, your heart is my heart and I vow to protect it, treasure it, and care for it, forever.” 

Jaskier rubs his thumb over Geralt’s ring. Geralt clenches his jaw, squeezing Jaskier’s fingers. 

Vesemir had suggested they make the vows meaningful, a confession built on the lie of their long courtship, to prove to Nilfgaard, and the rest of the world, the alliance is justified. Geralt couldn’t prepare for the wave of earnest honesty that spilt from Jaskier’s lips.

“I have never found words easy.” Jaskier and Eskel snort, nodding in agreement. “I fear this is no exception. But, I vow to provide you a life of happiness and protect you, to make you proud to call me your husband. My heart is yours and if you will allow it so, your heart is mine.” 

Jaskier’s eyes shine with tears. Geralt panics for a second, fearing he did wrong but Jaskier smiles. 

The Fae officiate lays his hands over their joined ones. Geralt swallows heavily as a shimmery dome starts to form over them. Once it’s fully settled on the stage, Jaskier draws closer to Geralt. 

“Geralt of Rivia. Julian Alfred Pankratz. Do you take each other, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, till death depart.”

“We swear by peace and love to stand, heart to heart and hand to hand. Laws of Nature and Chaos alike hear us now, confirming this to be our vow.” 

Geralt’s voice shakes, he had rehearsed this many times with Ciri and Eskel the night before but he still wasn't sure. But Jaskier’s is strong and confident. 

His hands are tight on Geralt’s, mouthing “ _you’re okay._ “ Geralt smiles softly.

“I thee bind.” 

He gasps softly, feeling a warmth wrap around him, stroking through his hair and wriggling into the collar, spreading underneath his clothes. 

Jaskier giggles, throwing his arms around Geralt's shoulders. He presses a kiss to Geralt's temple.

“You did so well, my darling.” He whispers, squeezing him tight. Geralt lays a hand on the small of the prince’s back. 

“Is everything you do flawless?” Geralt breathes in sweet lemongrass, feeling almost drunk. 

“Maybe to you.” Jaskier pulls back with a grin, threading his hand in Geralt's hair. The shimmering dome falls from around them. Geralt pays no mind, sharing the same air as the prince.

“Can I kiss you?” Jaskier nods, biting his lip. 

Geralt presses his lips against Jaskier’s. His hands run gently down his sides, palms settling on his hips. Jaskier makes a small noise in the back of his throat, blue eyes half closing. His fingers are soft and warm against Geralt’s skin. 

Jaskier leans forward as he pulls away, a pout on his pink lips. He can barely hear the crowd clapping, blood roaring in his ears and an ache of _want_ creeping beneath his skin. 

“Come on then, we’ve gotta go make merry.” Jaskier winks, dropping another sweet kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. 

“Hmm.” 

  
  


\-----------------------------------------------------

  
  


The party that ensued felt more personal than the night before. Instead of wading through a mass of strangers, Jaskier floated at his side. The prince’s smile never seemed to leave his face.

He leads Geralt by the hand to the woman he sang with the night before. She’s wearing a beautiful purple gown, her hair done up in a tight braid. Her smiling mouth is painted a dark red, eyes shining.

“My darling, this is my dear Maddie.” Jaskier introduces them with a shy grin. “Maddie, this is my darling Wolf.”

“Nice to finally put a real face to the name.” She shakes his hand, a sweet smile. “Jaskier is so good at illusions, he’s practised conjuring you so-” 

“Okay! Mads, thank you but we have to go… bind and stuff.” Jaskier barks, pulling Geralt’s hand out of hers with a flushed face.

“It was a joy meeting you. We’ll finish this conversation later, yes?” Maddie laughs, nodding to him. 

“Of course. Enjoy your… binding.” She makes a gross face. “Be careful with him, I'd hate to have to hurt you.” The sweet smile returns to her face. Geralt raises an eyebrow, nodding seriously. He lets Jaskier guide him away with an amused expression. 

“You conjured illusions of me?” He pulls Jaskier close by the hand. The prince’s cheeks are dusted red, his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Can we just- just pretend you don’t know that?” Jaskier almost whines. Geralt can’t fight the smile that spreads on his face. 

“For now, husband.” 

“Marriage is a good look on you, brother!” Geralt sighs, turning to face Eskel. He had shedded his chestpiece, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair is scraped back in a band, the shaven underneath etched into a striped design.

“You remember my brother.” Jaskier grins and shakes his hand. 

“We meet again, dear.” 

“No insult to you, princeling, but we could not be more pleased in your choice.” Eskel holds Jaskier’s hand in both of his. He wets his lips, nodding slightly. Jaskier giggles, making Geralt’s sides ache.

“I can tell you and Eagle have a bond. Even if I didn't know Geralt as I do, I would have chosen him. To offer a child, while it may be tradition, is barbaric and I'll personally see to the change.” His blue eyes are kind and soft. 

Jaskier ducks under Eskel’s outstretched arms to sidle up beside Lambert. “I like your necklace.” 

“Ah, um, thank you.” Geralt covers his smile in Eskel’s shoulder as he embraces his brother. Lambert’s voice seems stiff and nervous.

“The imperfections can make something so beautiful, don’t you agree?” Jaskier winks at him, watching him blush. Eskel wipes a hand self consciously over his scar as Lambert’s eyes slide over to him. 

Lambert reaches for Eskel’s hand, kissing his palm.

“Of course.” He loses the slight edge in his voice from before. Jaskier smiles softly, pursing his lips at Geralt over their heads in a kiss. Geralt shakes his head with a chuckle. 

He relaxes further, watching his brothers idly chat with Jaskier, juniper berries creeping up behind him. He wraps an arm around Ciri’s narrow shoulders. 

“Hey, cub.” He presses a kiss to her temple. She wasn’t quite fifteen summers old, yet she had more bite than even Voltehre demonstrated. 

Jaskier seems to glow when he notices Ciri. He ducks in the air to lay at her height.

“I don't think we’ve been informally introduced. Wana give it a go?'' Ciri's eyes go wide, a smile spreading over her face. She nods happily.

“I’m known as Jaskier to some and my favourite colour is yellow.” He holds his hand out. Ciri shakes it confidently. 

“I’m known as Ciri and my favourite colour is lilac.” 

“Like the flowers?” She hums in confirmation. 

“You wana see somethin’ cool?”

“What kinda somethin’?” Ciri scrunches her nose.

“Trust me.” Ciri rolls her hazel eyes, nodding. “Make a fist.” He turns her hand up on his palm, tracing over her fingernails. “Ready? Open your hand.” 

She uncurls a fingers and dark purple butterflies fly flutter out and lilac petals follow in their wake. 

“Woah!” 

“Yeah?”

She nods her head, mouth dropping in awe. Geralt watches with a content smile. 

“It’s getting late.” Eskel quirks his eyebrow. “Don’t you have…” He clicks his tongue. Jaskier laughs nervously, hand landing on Geralt's shoulder. 

“I’ll show you to my room.” Geralt sighs. Ciri makes a noise of protest as he starts to turn away. With a huff of laughter, Geralt opens his arms. She jumps up, her arms winding around his neck. 

“Be good, cub. I’ll see you for lunch.” She kisses his cheek with a giggle. 

“Night, dad.” She whispers. He sets her feet on the floor and offers Jaskier his hand. Jaskier let’s Geralt lead him through the crowd and into one of the wide corridors. Jaskier hums as they walk, swinging their hands. Opening one of the doors near the end of the hallway, Geralt gestures for Jaskier to walk ahead of him.

“This is my room.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. Jaskier’s fingers trail over his shelves, the small table by his door. “It's not much but I hope it's okay. I’ll grab us a drink.”

Jaskier hums, poking at the spines of his books, legs crossed in the air. As Geralt drops his hand, already holding the door handle, Jaskier spins in the air, almost losing his balance, long legs tangled together.

“Wait! Could you kiss me before you go?” Jaskier’s eyes are wide, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

“Of course.” Geralt frowns. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“You just haven't kissed me yet.” He huffs a sigh, picking at his nails.

“I didn't know you wanted me to.” Geralt chuckles, reaching for the prince’s face. He breathes deeply, lemongrass swirling around them as he presses his lips to Jaskier’s. 

“Mmf.” Jaskier sags against him, hands clutching at his shoulders. His eyes close, pressing himself tight to Geralt’s front. The Witcher smiles, Jaskier’s lips parting. 

The prince starts to shake in his grip, tongue slipping along Geralt’s with a hushed gasp. Geralt feels heat creep up his spine. He breaks the kiss gently, holding Jaskier close.

“You okay?” 

“Yes. Yeah. I just- um. Don’t you feel it?” Jaskier’s nails scratch down the arms of Geralt’s armour.

“I-” Geralt frowns, focusing on the ache underneath his skin. The knotted warmth at the base of his spine. “I think so. It’s not as intense as I thought it would be.” Jaskier runs his nose along the length of Geralt’s jaw.

“How do Witchers claim their mates?”

“Through the Bite. Scents. Binding.” Geralt shrugs. “Sex with our mate is different compared to sex with… well, anyone else.” He bites his lip as Jaskier starts dropping kisses down his neck. 

“How so?” Jaskier prompts with a sharp nip. Geralt squeezes his waist and lets his head tip back a little.

“Being with our mate can trigger a sort of instinct. We get this… this swell? At the base of our dick.”

“Wait.” Jaskier’s eyes are bright, pink lips curling in a smirk. “You’re telling me Witchers knot? Like wolves?” Geralt feels his face flush.

Jaskier’s hands are soft on his cheeks, tilting his head back to face him properly. 

“Hey, it's okay, we’ll figure it out. You wana grab us those drinks? I feel we might need them.” Jaskier smiles, pressing his lips to the Witcher’s forehead. 

“Okay. Okay, I'll be back in a minute. Can I kiss you?” 

“Mm, yes please.” Geralt kisses Jaskier’s smiling mouth, growling when the prince sucked his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Make yourself comfortable.” Geralt pulls away, letting his hands drop from Jaskier’s waist. He watches the Faerie turn, his hips swaying as he starts looking around the room. With a shake of his head, a small smile on his face, Geralt ducks back into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

He passes quickly through the common room, nodding his head to Maddie as she waves her goodbyes. Geralt jogs down the stairs, trying to keep his heavy boots quiet on the stone. 

The High King is at the end of the hall, hands clasped in Vesemir's. Geralt could hear them murmur their goodbyes. He tries not to be heard loitering, walking slowly through the kitchen to fill a jug with water. The pump is stiff in the sink and screeches as he brings the handle down.

Geralt grits his teeth, unable to hear the parting words, turning his back to the doorway as Vesemir comes past with a sigh. 

“I would have thought you to grow out of that, pup.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt agrees easily, dropping a clay cup into the jug. Vesemir smells like he’s sweating ale instead of his usual cedar. 

Geralt reaches for the old Witcher’s arm. Vesemir leans into him, surprising them both. 

“You did well today. You always were the sweetest pup.” Vesemir swallows, his head resting on Geralt’s shoulder. He takes a shaky breath.

“Be good to your mate, Geralt. It doesn't get easier to be without them.” Geralt ‘hmm’s, placing the jug by his feet. He starts encouraging Vesemir towards the stairs. 

“It’s nearing time for bed, don’t you think?” Geralt keeps his voice quiet and warm. 

“She’s proud of you, you know? I can tell.” Geralt clenches his teeth as Vesemir slurs. “The pure white Wolf.” He laughs wetly, uncoordinated hand raising to pat the top of Geralt’s head. “She’s never wrong.” 

“I miss her. I wish she had been here today.” Geralt sighs, catching his mentor's hand in his.

“She was, pup. She's here now. Holding my hand.” Geralt couldn't keep the tears filling his eyes as Vesemir clung to his hand. His fingers tighten in Geralt’s, crumpling into his side.

“Eskel?” Geralt calls up the stairs. He waits a moment, Vesemir slipping in his grip. “Eskel!” 

“Fucking what?” Eskel grumbles, buttoning his breeches as his bare feet carry him down the stairs

“Help me get Ves in bed. Don’t wana drop him.” The frustrated lines in Eskel’s face smooth out.

“It’s been a while since he’s been like this. We all miss her.” Eskel untangles Vesemir’s fingers from Geralt’s, hooking his arm over his bare shoulders.

“Where’s Lambert, wasn’t he with you?” Geralt mirrors him, slinging Vesemir’s other arm around his neck, bending his knees a little to grab the jug at his feet.

Eskel laughs, low and dirty.

“Yeah. But he’s a little… tied up right now. And blindfolded. And gagged.” Geralt groans, Vesemir’s feet dragging as they climb the stairs.

“And sounding a little like that. But higher.” 

“Shut up, forget I asked.” Geralt rolls his eyes.

Eskel grins, lugging the old Witcher down the hallway. He shoulders the door to Vesemir's room open. They strain, hauling him on the bed. Eskel straightens his arms, Geralt crouching to unbuckle his boots.

“Can I- Eskel?” 

“Yes, Geralt?” Eskel rolls his eyes, fingers knocking Geralt’s as he tugs at the heel of the boot.

“You and Lambert… mate. Right?”

“Oh dear Gods. You’re over 50 years old, we are not having the sex talk.” 

“No, Esk, seriously.” Geralt grunts. “I don’t want to hurt him.” 

“Look, you’ve fucked guys before, right?” Geralt concentrates on easing Vesemir’s boot off, starting on the second. “Oh, okay, I think I see the problem here.”

Eskel sighs. “Right, you know how when you finger a woman it’s mostly foreplay?”

“Do women like your technique?” 

“What do I know? I have a very male and very ready Witcher strapped to the bed waiting for me. Anyway, you need to actually take care of a guy- I’m talkin’ like more than three fingers if you can. The actual binding bit is a little difficult to prepare for but once it's in, you gotta keep him comfortable and hydrated. You’ll be fine.” Eskel claps his shoulder with a grin.

Geralt grumbles, heat spreading across his cheeks. He tucks a blanket over Vesemir, grabbing the jug again. 

“Enjoy your night.” Geralt watches the floor as he heads back to his room, Eskel’s hoots of laughter echoing off the walls. He opens the door to his room, shoulders relaxing as the sweet lemongrass becomes overwhelming.

“I’m sorry I took so long- woah.” 

Jaskier giggles. He’s sat against the headboard in a soft white chemise, long sleeves covering his hands. The collar is wide, drooping down his shoulder. “You-” Geralt places the jug heavily down by Jaskier’s bedside. The Witcher fills the clay cup up with fresh water, fishing a small vial of oil and a cloth from the draw. He wets his lips, hands starting to reach for pale expansion of skin. “Can I-”

“Yes.” 

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.” He slowly takes Jaskier’s face in his hand, slipping the other inside his chemise. He strokes his fingers over the soft hair on his chest. “Let me kiss you?” 

“Yes, please.” Jaskier tips his chin up, forget-me-not eyes wide and mischievous.

His fingers dig in just under Jaskier’s jaw, thumb pressing hard on his cheekbone. Geralt kisses him, open mouthed and languid. He swallows Jaskier’s small, high pitched noises with slow presses of tongue. 

The heat returns under his skin, rock climbing up his vertebrae. Lemongrass turns heavy as he sucks in a shaky breath, Jaskier’s hands grabbing at his hips as he breaks the kiss. 

Geralt feels dizzy as he straightens, letting his hand slip to Jaskier’s jaw. His nose itches, the air fizzing in his chest. 

“Shit…” Jaskier murmurs, making no move to ease the weight that wraps Geralt in almost a tipsy haze. Geralt strokes his thumb over the prince’s Adam's apple, groaning low when it bobs.

The Witcher takes his hands off him and instead starts fiddling with the buckles of his armour. He shrugs each piece off, keeping his balance well as his head spins a little. Stripping out of his shirt and untying his breeches, Geralt let his mouth fall open. 

Jaskier had tipped his head back against the pillows, palm pressing against his growing erection. 

“Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice is high, his forget-me-not eyes partially closing as the haze eases from the Witcher’s mind.

“Hmm?” Geralt sits by Jaskier’s hip at the edge of the bed, unlacing his boots.

“I didn’t even know that muscle existed.” Jaskier’s hands were cool as he rested his palms on his shoulder blades. His thumbs follow the line of heat down Geralt’s spine, digging in slightly. Geralt huffs out a laugh, taking his boots off and shucking his breeches and small clothes down. Jaskier hums, his hands smoothing down his sides, dipping between newly bare thighs.

His teeth are sharp as he bites at Geralt’s ear, raising to his knees. His chemise is soft against Geralt’s back, contrasting to his rough, scarred skin. 

“Hmm.” Geralt leans back, his head resting on Jaskier’s shoulder as one of the prince’s hands scratches against his thigh, the other stroking along his dick. His fingers circle the thick band of skin at the base of his dick, Jaskier’s breath catching in his throat.

“Fuck- Geralt.” Jaskier whines, pressing open mouthed kisses onto his neck. Geralt turns, bringing one knee up on the bed. His arms wrap around the prince. Jaskier huffs out a windchime giggle, making Geralt’s chest ache. 

“Okay?” 

“Yes. Sweet Melitele, Geralt, yes.” Geralt guides Jaskier to lay on his back, his arms caging him in. He growls low, his name on Jaskier’s lips fuelling the burn under his skin. 

“Can I kiss you?”

“Geralt, my darling. You can do whatever you damn please with me.” Jaskier gasps, his hands finding their way in Geralt’s hair. He twists his fingers, crushing Geralt’s mouth to his. Geralt groans, shifting his weight to one of his arms, the other rucking up Jaskier’s chemise. 

Jaskier’s skin is soft, his hipbone fitting into Geralt’s wide palm. His nails are blunt, dragging them down over the dusting of brown curls to grip at his dick. Geralt strokes Jaskier slowly, feeling him shake, the buck of his hips, the way his tongue curls along Geralt’s. 

Jaskier whines as Geralt sits up, lips swollen and wet. The Witcher growls, snapping his teeth at Jaskier’s fingertips when his hands drag over his face and down his chest. Geralt leans to grab a vial of oil from the bedside table. 

“No more going away.” Jaskier huffs, ankles hooking in the small of Geralt’s back as he covers the bard’s body with his own.

“Hmm. Can I mark you?” 

“Geralt.” Jaskier grinds up against Geralt’s stomach, eyes rolling back in his head as his dick rubs along hard muscle. “You don’t have to ask every time, you know.” 

“Maybe I just like hearing you.” Geralt fights a pout. He presses his face to the crook of Jaskier’s neck, pressing his open mouth to his skin. 

“Hearing me? What do you like me saying?” Jaskier’s hands fist in his hair. He rolls his hips, voice soft and playful. “That I want you to mark me? Bite me and bruise me?” Geralt chokes on a moan, salt on his tongue as he licks up Jaskier’s throat. “Claim me, make me yours.” 

The Witcher sucks gently at his jaw, nipping down his neck. His hands shove at the chemise, pulling it up Jaskier’s chest and over his head. The prince makes a delighted giggle, pressing his chest to Geralt's. 

Geralt pinches at one of his nipples, fitting his teeth over Jaskier’s shoulder. He can feel Jaskier’s knuckles press against the back of his head, forcing his teeth deeper in his skin. His scent spikes into something more cloying.

“Fuckin’ bite me.” The prince would have sounded commanding but his voice cracks. Geralt digs his teeth, sucking harshly. Heat burns under his skin, breaking out in a flushed sweat as the Fae priests words echo in his head. 

_“I thee bind._ ” 

But they’re quickly drowned by Jaskier’s high whine. Geralt tastes blood. He laps his tongue over the mark in apology over the bite, pulling back as far as Jaskier’s tight grip will let him. His scalp stings where his hair is pulled taunt through Jaskier’s fingers.

“You okay? I’m sor-” Jaskier chuckles breathlessly, cutting him off with a crushing kiss. Worry builds and fades in his stomach as Jaskier’s hot tongue fucks into his mouth. They break away, blood smeared over his teeth. 

“You gona put that oil to use anytime soon?” Geralt swallows hard as Jaskier grins red. He tightens his legs around Geralt’s waist, scratching down the back of his neck. 

“Hmm.” Geralt brushes his thumb over Jaskier's lips, smiling when his eyes fall closed. He sits back on his knees, uncapping the oil. Geralt sighs, eyes skating over his husband. He trails a hand down his soft chest, pumping his cock slowly. 

Geralt hums as Jaskier’s breath hitches. He releases his tight grip on Jaskier, covering his fingers in oil. Geralt smirks as Jaskier reaches for him with a whine. He dips his head down to capture Jaskier in a hard kiss, spreading his knees apart to lift Jaskier high on his thighs. 

“Mmf, Geralt- please.” Jaskier pants into his mouth. Geralt rubs the pads of his slick fingers against his hole. Geralt licks down his neck, humming as he sucks a harsh mark over his pulse point. His teeth dig into the pale skin as he pushes a finger inside. 

Jaskier’s hands twist in his hair almost painfully, dragging Geralt to kiss him. He moans against Geralt’s mouth, heels digging into his back. 

Jaskier works up to three fingers beautifully, Geralt tells him as such. Mouth pressing against his chest, biting small marks into sweaty skin. Jaskier smells fresh and sweet and Geralt can’t stop himself from lapping over his nipples until they pebble. 

“You’re doing so well for me.” Geralt grunts as he rubs over Jaskier’s sweet spot. The prince bucks his hips, shouting Geralt’s name. “A little longer.” He rests his forehead against Jaskier’s, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it all. 

“My mate.” He near whispers against Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier grinds down against his fingers, meeting his thrusts. “Jask, you-” Geralt takes a deep breath as Jaskier scratches down his shoulders. 

“Yours, always been yours.” He barks out a laugh, shakily finding Geralt's free hand. He laces their fingers together, pressing a kiss over the thin silver band around Geralt's little finger. 

“Dandelion.” Geralt shook his head with a chuckle. “You bastard. You perfect little bastard.” He twists his wrist, spreading his fingers in Jaskier’s ass, making him cry out.

“Geralt- please. If you don’t put your cock in me I swear- fuck!” Geralt nudges a fourth finger inside, thrusting them deeper into Jaskier’s ass. “You fucking-” Geralt thinks his mate tries to snarl, but there are tears in his eyes and his head lolls back against the bed. 

“Shh, you’re so good. So perfect, Jask.” Geralt runs soothing fingers over his chest, palming his dick. He slowly pulls his fingers out, watching with an open mouth as Jaskier clenches. He moans high and breathless, blush down to his chest.

“Geralt, Geralt.” His name rolls off Jaskier’s tongue almost mindlessly. Geralt presses the head of his cock against his stretched hole, dribbling more oil onto his length. He circles his cock, feeling the slight swell at the base of his dick. 

“Turn over for me, Jask. It’ll be more comfortable for after.” Geralt guides Jaskier onto his stomach, head resting on his arms. “Okay?” He smooths his hands over the arch of Jaskier’s back as he settles on his knees.

“After you’ve knotted me.” His voice is deeper than Geralt’s ever heard him, husky and he wiggles his hips expectantly. “You’ve marked me, anybody who sees me now will know I’m yours. I’ll never cover it.” 

Geralt exhales, watching the prince spread his knees wider. He can see his harsh set of teeth marks in his shoulder, blood already drying. He lines his cock up, hand resting gently on Jaskier’s waist. 

“Okay?” He drops a kiss over his claiming bite, pressing another below Jaskier’s ear. Jaskier nods, his sweat-damp hair brushing Geralt’s nose.

“More than okay.” Jaskier hums as Geralt carefully pushes in. He breathes in deep lungfuls of Jaskier’s scent, focusing on the way Jaskier swallows to stop himself from forcing the rest of the way into the tight heat of his ass. 

“Jask, fuck.” Geralt drops his head to Jaskier;s shoulder, open mouth against the bite. 

“Is that your knot? Fuck, how big is it gona get?” Jaskier’s throat clicks as he swallows. Geralt starts thrusting lazily, dragging every inch of his cock against Jaskier’s prostate.

“Hmm. A little smaller than the size of your fist, maybe.” Geralt smooths his hands down Jaskier’s shoulders, nails gently dragging over his ribs, thumbs dipping into the small dimples in his lower back.

“The size of my- Geralt!” Jaskier turns his head to look at him, blue eyes damp. “What if I die? What if I die tied to your cock and full of your cum? What kind of ballad will that make?” Geralt groans as Jaskier clenches around him. 

“You won’t die. You will be filled up though.” He presses his hands against Jaskier’s soft stomach. “Gona be able to see how full you are.” His voice dips into a growl as a darker blush stains over Jaskier’s face. “Gona smell like me for a week.” 

Geralt licks a wet stripe up the back of Jaskier’s neck. He lets his eyes close, his knot catching on Jaskier’s rim. Each short, hard thrust punches a high moan out of his mate, thighs shaking. He wraps an arm around Jaskier’s waist, supporting his weight, cock bobbing against his arm. 

Jaskier makes a strangled sound, the sensitive head rubbing against the hairs dusting Geralt's forearm. 

“You need to stop or I’m gona cum. Geralt, Geralt!” Jaskier buries his face in his arm, the desperate whine of his voice pushing Geralt over the edge. He presses his teeth to the bite mark, groaning low against the bruised skin as he cums, cock swollen, Jaskier clenching tight around him. 

Jaskier gasps, Geralt’s arm wrapped around him, throbbing deep in his ass. Geralt feels his whole body tense as Jaskier’s release splashes over his arm, up his own chest in thick ropes. 

Geralt’s head spins, his body warm and relaxed, draped over Jaskier. His nose itches as fizzing fills the air. A heavy weight lays over his shoulder and he indulges it. He lets the bubbling waves sift through his hair, soaking his skin in lemongrass. 

“Ungh.” Jaskier hums. Geralt turns them gently on their sides, holding his mate tight against his chest. Jaskier doesn’t move for a few long moments, content and placid in Geralt’s arms, cum painting his insides. 

“Shh.” Geralt brushes his sweaty hair back from his face before his eyes open. “There. You okay?” Jaskier blinks slowly, eyes shining. 

“Big.” He pushes his head back until his throat is bared, head tucked tightly under Geralt’s chin. “Can feel you.” 

“This can’t be comfortable.” Geralt strokes his fingers gently over his Adam's apple, fingering across the small bruises. He reaches for a pillow, settling Jaskier down onto it. “You don’t mind the knot?” Geralt tries to keep his nervousness out of his voice but it creeps behind his teeth. 

“Nice. Feel like yours.” Jaskier sighs, lacing his fingers in Geralt’s. He rubs over the ring, scent unmistakably happy. “Like bein’ yours.” He whispers like it’s a secret. Geralt noses behind his ear. 

“I like you being mine, Jask.” He can’t help but smile down at his husband, forget-me-not eyes closing. His fingers soon go lax between Geralt’s, breathing evening out. The Witcher curls up around Jaskier, trying not to jolst the knot inside him. He can feel the swell of Jaskier's stomach as he dips his fingers down between them to feel the stretch of Jaskier’s rim around him.

Pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, Geralt lets his eyes close. 

“Mm, Geralt?” After what feels like only a minute, Geralt cracks a heavy eye open. “Gona make the bed messy if we don’t move.” The Witcher tries to keep the surprise off his face, turning Jaskier carefully on his front, flaccid member slipping free. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Geralt grunts as he stretches for the jug of water, dipping a cloth into it. “Here,” He nudges Jaskier’s thighs apart. Geralt swallows heavily, watching his cum drip from his husband’s stretched hole. 

“Ah- okay.” Jaskier gasps as Geralt starts wiping between his legs. “Cold.” He huffs when Geralt makes a questioning noise. He kisses the jut of Jaskier’s hip bone, pressing another just below the swell of his asscheek. The sweat on his skin has mixed with Geralt’s own scent.

“Turn for me.” Geralt murmurs, supporting hands on Jaskier’s sides. His husband’s skin has cleared the mottle of pink from his chest and face. His hair is a mess, Geralt can’t imagine his own looks any better. He smiles, pressing his lips against Jaskier’s. He rubs a clean part of the cloth in circles over Jaskier’s chest, cleaning the dried cum and specks of blood off his skin. 

“Drink.” He passes Jaskier the cup and gets a soft smile in return. Geralt closes his eyes, wiping down his forearm, listening to Jaskier swallow. The cloth is taken from his hand, his wrist caught in long, slender fingers.

“Just relax, Wolf.” Jaskier presses his lips to Geralt’s shoulder. “How old is this scar?” 

He sighs, partially opening his eyes so he can watch the concentrated pink tongue poke out from Jaskier’s mouth. 

“When I met you. The drowners.” He lets Jaskier tip the cup to his lips, drinking slowly. His fingers are gentle on Geralt’s jaw. 

Everything about having Jaskier in his bed scream _intimate_.

"How long ago was that? Years? Decades?" Geralt hums, lips quirking in a smile.

Geralt takes the cloth and cup, putting them back on the table. He pulls back the covers, climbing into bed. Geralt smiles when Jaskier slips in beside him, tucking the blankets around them. He holds his husband to his chest, feeling Jaskier kiss the hollow of his throat. Geralt breaths in deep. He lets the warmth of Jaskier ground him, magic cloaking them both. 

“I think I’m quite lucky to have you have you as my husband.” Jaskier muses, his arms tucked close against Geralt’s chest. “I didn’t know callouses could feel so soft.” Geralt rubs his cheek across the top of Jaskier’s head, fingers running down the length of his spine. 

“Jask.” He tightens his arms around his mate,tangling their legs together. 

“I mean, even when you bit me so hard I bled, it didn’t actually hurt. Why is that? Anyway, it’s probably really late. Do you think you could sleep like this? I can, if you’ll let me.” His voice was soft and sweet against Geralt’s collarbone. 

“Didn’t hurt ‘cus we were mating.” Geralt breathes. 

“Oh? Oh, I forgot we were legally and magically required to do that.” Geralt grumbles when he feels Jaskier frown, lemongrass becoming almost tinny. 

“Me too. Was good. I’m glad it’s you, Jask.” Geralt feels his chest tighten. Vulnerability never was his favoured look. 

The happiness that seeps out from Jaskier’s skin is worth it. 

“Oh.” He swallows, pressing himself tighter to Geralt. “You didn’t think you’d… like, have feelings for your mate?” 

“I do have feelings for you.” Geralt hides the down-turn of his lips in Jaskier’s hair. “You make me feel happy. I trusted you even before we were due to wed, even though I was trained better than that. To not trust anybody we didn’t know. Let alone a Fae.” He made sure he dropped his voice into a deeper octave, mimicking Vesemir. 

“You took my ring with only a smile to persuade you.” There’s a giggle in Jaskier’s voice. 

“Hmm. I can hear your heartbeat if I try. Can know when you lie.”

“That can’t be true!” Jaskier does laugh this time, windchimes where his vocal cords should be. 

“Mm. Go to sleep.” He mumbles. Jaskier shuffles a little, making sure the blanket is tucked over Geralt’s shoulders before settling back into his arms. 

“Okay.” He whispers. He brushes a strand of hair from over Geralt’s forehead with soft fingers. His lips are so warm, an ache building in his chest, as he kisses his forehead. “Goodnight, husband.” 

Geralt lets the candles burn down. He stays awake until Jaskier’s grip on his shoulder is lax and his mouth is open against his collarbone. He counts Jaskier’s vertebrae, and how many ribs hug his lungs. He falls asleep, head filled with cotton and Mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wellthats chap four, one more to go!


	5. faith, trust and... well, you know the rest

His eyes snap open as his hair is tugged sharply. 

“Shit! Sorry, dearheart.” Jaskier murmurs, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Shh, it’s okay. Go back to sleep.” His fingers thread through Geralt’s hair, gently untangling the knots. 

“Hmm.” He tightens his arms around Jaskier’s waist, tucking his head to the rook of his neck. 

“There you go. That’s better, mm?” Jaskier hums a soft tune as he works through the white strands. Geralt can feel Jaskier’s hard dick pressed into his abdomen. He feels himself grow half hard.

He knows Jaskier can feel it too but the prince continues to run his fingers through Geralt's hair. Geralt licks and sucks lightly at his neck, grunting as Jaskier nips sharply at his earlobe. 

“Behave yourself, Wolf, or I won’t let you knot me before breakfast.” Geralt growls low, rutting his boner against Jaskier’s ass. The prince tuts, pushing lightly at Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt turns onto his back, Jaskier quickly straddling him.

“Would it really be that much of a shame, love? If you couldn’t fill me up, keep me smelling like your cum?” Jaskier smirks, running his hands down Geralt’s chest. He fingers over the broader scars on Geralt’s skin. His mouth is open, tongue resting on his bottom lip. 

Geralt blindly reaches for the vial of oil. He growls, trapping Jaskier’s lip in his blunt teeth as his hands wrap around Geralt’s cock.

“How are you so wet?” Jaskier gathers pearls of precum on his thumb, moaning against his mouth. “Geralt.” He gasps as Geralt presses the pads of his fingers over the dark bruise on his shoulder. The impressions of his teeth are fresh and deep in his skin. 

“Look so pretty.” Geralt kisses him softly, cradling his neck. “Jask, you’re so-” Geralt chokes on a moan as Jaskier twists his wrist, pumping his cock in a tight fist. 

“Get your fingers in me, darling.” Jaskier licks over his bottom lip with a giggle, blue eyes bright. He slips two oiled fingers into Jaskier with little resistance. He eases him to three quickly, lips quirking into a smirk as the bard throws his head back with a whine. 

“That’s enough. Fuck, Geralt.” Jaskier helps him spread the oil over his dick, jerking him fast. Geralt bats his hands away. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Jaskier nods his head rapidly, fingers hooking on his collarbone. Geralt holds his hips, guiding him down his cock, Jaskier’s fingers tighten around the base of his throat as he keens, letting his weight ease him the rest of the way down Geralt's cock.

“Fuck- Jask.” Geralt watches Jaskier’s cock bob as the prince fucks himself on his cock. 

“Gods, you’ve ruined sex for me. Nothing will ever fill me as well as your cock does.” Jaskier whines, squeezing his hands gently on Geralt’s neck.

“You’ve got five seconds to reconsider even thinking about fucking anyone else ever again.” Geralt snarls, grip tight on Jaskier’s hips. The possessiveness coats his tongue, eyes blackening. 

“Ahh- fuck, Geralt.” Geralt growls, a deep rumble in his chest. Jaskier pushes hard with his palms, Geralt letting him pin him to the mattress by his throat. “Big, jealous Wolf-” Jaskier pants, Geralt’s cock fucked deep inside. “I’ve got your mark, your scent. Nobody will think for a second that they have a shot.” 

Geralt grunts, tipping his head back. Jaskier’s fingers feel secure and strong around his neck. He scratches across Jaskier's back gently.

“Can squeeze harder than that, y’know.” He mumbles, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Oh?” Jaskier presses down with his thumbs a little more. “How much harder? Tell me, darling, do you want to gasp for me? Turn a pretty red and beg to breathe?” Jaskier’s voice is light and teasing, thumbs caressing down the sides of his neck in firm strokes. 

“Yeah.” Geralt breathes. “Jask, yeah.” He hears the prince chuckle, feels his magic stroke through his hair. 

“Alright, beautiful. I can do that for you.” His voice is soft and warm. Geralt’s chest aches, his cock throbbing as Jaskier tightens his fingers. He keeps a steady pace, sinking down smoothly on Geralt’s cock. 

His head starts to go fuzzy, a strained gasp falling from his mouth. His blood roars in his ears. Heat builds in his stomach, his knot barely able to comfortably stretch Jaskier’s rim.

“Okay, love?” Jaskier drops a kiss to Geralt’s slack lips. 

“Mm, yes.” Geralt forces his mouth to cooperate, smiling up softly at his husband. 

“You wana jerk me off? ‘M so close, seeing you like this. All soft and relaxed under me.” Jaskier’s words smooth over him, ebbing away any possible tenseness in his muscles. Geralt wraps a loose hand around his cock, pumping him slowly.

Jaskier bends low over him, nipping along his jaw. His breath comes in harsh pants as he grinds down on Geralt. 

“Jask, gona cum.” Jaskier hums, smirking at Geralt’s strained words. He grinds the Witcher’s cock deep in his ass. Geralt grunts as his knot forces Jaskier’s hole to open further. 

“Cum then. Fill me up, darling.” Jaskier moans. Geralt feels heat spread over his cheeks, Jaskier’s endearments burning over his skin. His orgasm punches a growl from him, tearing over his lips, teeth bared.

“Absolutely beautiful.” Jaskier presses a messy kiss to his mouth, teeth clacking together as Jaskier cums over his chest and hand. “Fuck, Geralt.” Jaskier trails off in a whine, loosening his grip on Geralt’s neck, licking over his pulse point. 

If Witchers bruised easily, Geralt thinks he would have marks where Jaskier’s thumbs pressed.

“Ah, fuck.” Geralt mutters as Jaskier shifts to reach for the cloth on the side. He wets it as well as he can and wipes over Geralt’s chest gently. 

“I know, love, I know.” Jaskier soothes, carefully moping the cum pooled in his belly button and coating his fingers. “You wana sit up?” Geralt hums, easing up on his elbows. Careful not to stretch Jaskier too badly, Geralt lifts the prince’s knees off the bed to shuffle back. 

“Fuck, you’re strong.” Jaskier yelps, hands clinging to his shoulders, knees tight on his sides. Geralt settles back against the pillows, Jaskier warm against his chest. 

Geralt groans softly into Jaskier’s neck, pressing a soft kiss against the claiming bite.

“How fast will it fade?” Jaskier smooths his thumbs over Geralt’s cheekbones. Geralt shrugs, smiling softly.

“Duno. Never given a mating bite to anyone before.” Jaskier giggles, wrapping his arms around Geralt's shoulder. He takes a deep breath, head swirling with lemongrass and Jaskier’s cum set deep in his skin. Geralt has the vague thought to never wash again, just so he never has to scrub away Jaskier’s scent on him.

“Jask…” Geralt murmurs, grasping the blanket, tugging it up around Jaskier's shoulders. He strokes down his back, holding him close to his chest. 

A loud thump on the door makes Jaskier startle in Geralt's arms. Without thinking, the Witcher growls, squeezing Jaskier tighter. 

“Geralt! Get your lazy ass up. Ves wants a word.” Eskel hit the door again. With a low grumble, Geralt licks up Jaskier's neck. He makes an appreciative noise at the taste of sweat on his skin. 

“Uh, sorry Eskel, dear.” Jaskier calls, his voice breaking. “Could you inform Vesemir he will have to either come here or wait another 20 minutes or so?” Eskel laughs uproariously, his weight hitting the door as he wheezes.

“I don’t think he’ll be impressed but good luck to ya!” 

Jaskier giggles, resting his cheek to the top of Geralt’s head. He hums a tune Geralt isn't familiar with and rubs the palms down Geralt's back. 

“Okay, darling?” Geralt grunts, shifting to carefully cross his legs. Jaskier chokes on a cut off moan, Geralt’s knot pushing deeper in his ass. “Geralt- oh…” Jaskier shudders, Geralt hiding his smile against the bard’s clavicle. 

“You’re such a good mate.” Geralt sighs, cum-drunk and sated. Jaskier presses a kiss to his temple.

“I’m so glad you think so, dearheart.” Jaskier smiles, his eyes shining. Geralt frowns. He takes a hold of Jaskier’s face in wide palms.

“Why’re you sad?” Geralt feels panic rise in his stomach. Jaskier chuckles sweetly, taking Geralt's hands in his.

“I’m sorry, darling. Nothing’s wrong, I just… I never thought I’d see you like this. I’ve dreamt about waking up to you and feeling your soft touch as day breaks.” Jaskier squeezes their hands, pressing a kiss over Geralt’s knuckles. 

“You’re too sweet to me, Jask.” Geralt mutters against his shoulder. 

“Wrong. I’m exactly the right amount of sweet to you.” Jaskier laughs, stroking his fingers through his hair. Geralt settles his hands on the bard’s waist, smiling up at him softly.

Another knock at the door has Geralt pressing Jaskier impossibly closer to him. 

“Come in!” Jaskier calls in a bubbly tone. Geralt growls, mouth pressing against the mating bite. Jaskier shushes him gently, the Witcher’s hands tugging the blanket up over his shoulders. He sits up properly, Jaskier keening as his knot tugs at his rim. 

“Morning, Ves.” Jaskier turns his head as best he can. 

Vesemir is dressed in the same brown leather armour, a white shirt underneath instead of the grey from yesterday. His hair is tied back from his face, his silver amulet proud on his chest.

“Yes. Good morning, Jaskier. Geralt. Quit your growling and listen up.” Geralt makes a low noise, rubbing his nose possessively up Jaskier’s neck to his ear. “As you are both aware, it has been a long time since the Fae have been so _personally_ involved with human affairs.” He raises an eyebrow, sniffing pointedly. 

Jaskier gave him a grin, Geralt resting a claiming open mouth against the dark bite on Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“The Fae need proof that they can trust you. That you can be trusted.” Jaskier swallows, stroking the back of Geralt's neck. 

“Your father suggests a speech of sorts and… a display from your Witcher. That he is both willing to be mated to you and you are properly bound.”

“I know what he means.” Jaskier sighs dejectedly. “Hear that, darling? I don’t think you’re going to be a fan.” 

“Mmm, Jask.” Geralt’s content smile is hidden, muffled against Jaskier's skin. Jaskier nods understandingly. 

“When do they want us?”

“Your father said today, at noon if possible.” Jaskier hums, resting his cheek against the top of Geralt's head.

“Yeah, we’ll be ready.” 

Vesemir nods his head, leaving the room. Eskel and Lambert are lent against the doorframe.

"I thought I taught at least one of you boys, it's rude to loiter." Vesemir smacks Eskel's shoulder, shaking his head. He barks out a laugh.

“Nope! Anyway, do you guys need a minute or can we talk?” 

Jaskier squirms a little, Geralt's hand snaking between them to feel his stretched rim. 

“A minute would be lovely.” Eskel smirks and shuts the door. Geralt noses behind Jaskier's ear, making soft noises, his hands petting up his sides. 

“What are you thinking in that pretty little head of yours?” Jaskier giggles. 

“Hmm. Mate.” He presses light kisses across Jaskier's skin. Jaskier shakes his head with a laugh. 

“Yes, darling.” Jaskier strokes his hair. “Now, as lovely as it is to sit here, how soon can I get off your dick?” 

“Hmm. Never. Gona stay in you, keep you full.” Geralt nips at his ear. “My mate.” 

“Yes, love.” Jaskier patiently ran his fingers through Geralt's hair. “We, however, have business to be getting ready for.

“Hmm.” He huffs, pressing a kiss to Jaskier's cheek. Geralt holds Jaskier close to his chest, pushing forward on his knees to lower Jaskier down onto the bed. 

He ran his hands down Jaskier's chest, sighing. His mate fit so well under his palms, fitting into the curve of his ribs, hip bones fitting into his palms. Jaskier shivered under his hands, dick half hard against his stomach. 

Geralt bent his head to lick up his sternum, bringing one hand to where they're joined, gently tugging his hips a little. With a little encouragement, his thumb rubbing circles against Jaskier's rim, his dick eases out. 

Jaskier whines as he reaches for the cloth at the bedside table, cleaning him carefully. 

“Shh, you okay?” Geralt continues to press kisses onto his skin, Jaskier's hands finding their way into his hair. Jaskier whines, his leg twitching, pulling Geralt up to kiss him sweetly. 

“There, all done.” He passes Jaskier’s small clothes, helping him slide the soft material up his legs. “Come back here.” Geralt wraps his arms around his waist, settling him back into his lap. 

“You’re such a softie.” Jaskier giggles, brushing his hair back from his eyes. Geralt murmurs a protest into his neck as Jaskier raises his voice. “You guys still out there?”

Eskel grunts a " _yeah"_ in response, opening the door. 

“We were thinking, would it help your case with the Fae if you had more than one Witcher with you?”

“Come, sit down.” Jaskier catches one of Geralt's hands as it dragged down his side, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Geralt nods to his brothers, smiling softly over Jaskier's shoulder.

Lambert settles at the foot of the bed, his back against the bedpost. Eskel rests his hand on Lambert's shoulder, leaning on the post at his side. 

“You realise what you’re suggesting?” Jaskier sits straighter against Geralt's chest. “You’re truly willing to risk your names?”

Eskel nods, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“We’ve all agreed that if it’s needed, we’re willing to help. This alliance is important and we can’t have room for doubt on either side. Having more than one of us to show the trust will put faith in both sides.” 

“Not Ciri.” Geralt rumbles. “She will never have her will taken from her. By anyone.” He feels possessiveness claw up his chest. 

Jaskier squeezes his hand, nodding understandingly. 

“Okay, darling. Nobody touches Ciri.” His voice is soft and soothing, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “The three of you will make a big enough statement. A little bit about my magic; it works best when you actually want to do what I say.” 

He drops Geralt's hand. Geralt growls, hooking his chin over his husbands shoulder and holding him close. 

“I’ll show you all how it feels to be under the effects of the glamour. For a lot of things, it’s more…” Jaskier waves his hand, searching for the right phrase. “... gentle persuasion. If the target is against what I want them to do, it takes a little more effort on my part, a little more tiring.”

Geralt fights a soft smile off his face as Jaskier’s eyes seem to shine, his hands dancing as he talks. 

“Any volunteers?” Geralt hums, chin digging in as he nods. Jaskier claps, a delighted giggle bubbling from his slender throat. Geralt watched his Adam's apple bob, his eyes half closed as the muscles in his neck tensed and relaxed.

“Geralt, take your hands off me.” 

The Witcher grunts in surprise, feeling a pull deep in his muscles. He reflectively tightens his arms. “Geralt, now.” 

Jaskier’s voice doesn’t change, still light and beautifully silvery. Geralt felt himself relax, the pull in his arms feeling warm, heating his bones. He whines into Jaskier’s neck, his arms falling away, palms facing the ceiling by his knees. 

“Good. Thank you, darling.” Jaskier presses a kiss to his head. Geralt hums, his tongue heavy and his arms a little fuzzy. 

“That was…” Geralt frowns. 

“I know.” Jaskier chuckles sheepishly. “So, I’m really going to need you guys to want to do as I say. Geralt is a very good subject for me, personally, as he is very willing. You two would be a little more challenging if you fought against my commands."

Jaskier thinks for a second. "Eskel, kiss Lambert.” 

Jaskier’s eyebrow quirks as a blush spread over Lambert’s face. Geralt watches Eskel stiffen, his hands shaking a little. He reaches for Lambert, his lips parting as he takes hold of the younger's face.

The kiss is bruising, Lambert’s muffled whine swallowed as his hands fist in Eskel’s hair. 

“Thank you, boys.” Geralt watches as they break apart slowly, blood smeared on Lambert’s lower lip. Eskel swallows heavily, throat clicking as he wipes away the smudge of red. 

“Fuck… that’s some strong shit you’ve got.” Jaskier nods, his scent souring. 

“You see why man feared my people. Some Fae are power hungry and cruel, striking as inspiration to protect your names.”

“We trust you.” Lambert tells him. Jaskier smiles, his eyes shining. 

“Thank you, dear. I will do my best to protect your names. Language is very fickle and I should be able to keep your names for myself and still prove the point.” 

“You’ll do great.” Geralt murmurs, stroking his hands down his biceps. Jaskier sighs, leaning back into him. 

“I know, I love my people but they’re not going to approve of this. Anyway!” Jaskier claps his hands. “We best get ourselves presentable for the Fae court.” 

  
  


\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Jaskier walks a step ahead of Geralt, head turned, chattering away to his father. The prince stood out against the Witcher’s dark attire. 

Jaskier had teased Geralt about wearing the leather as a second skin, convincing him to dress in a black shirt, rolled to his elbows. Jaskier’s slender fingers had pulled his hair back and tied it in the leather band, letting half of it lay against his back. He had untucked the silver medallion from the v of the shirt collar, murmuring _“you may be my husband but you are still a Witcher. Be proud, dearheart.”_ Then kissing him softly.

Jaskier himself was wrapped in a powder blue chemise, brown breeches tight around his long legs. His feet were bare, brushing over the grass. Geralt smiles, watching the Fae run his fingers through his hair. 

Madeleine stifles a chuckle beside him, her seafoam dress floating like waves around her ankles. She smells like confident mint, fresh and crisp. She caught his eye, winking. 

“He’s always been so anxious before a show. You should have seen him before we performed at the engagement banquet.” Madeleine shakes her head, skipping over a patch of daisies as they walk. 

“Really?” Geralt huffs, eyes drawn back to sweet lemongrass, he could smell his claim still on Jaskier’s skin. Through the silky material over his shoulders, Geralt could see the fresh impression of his teeth, bruised and possessive. But Jaskier waves his arms animatically, his laughter bright.

“Oh, yes. Our Dandy is a sweet one. He was so worried, with you out there. Didn’t want to mess up.” She tucks her hand into his elbow, moving closer. “We’re almost there. You’ve got to be comfortable with all of us. Not just your husband.” She laughs as he slowly relaxes into her hold. 

Looking behind him, he smirks as Lambert awkwardly lets a young, dark skinned Fae attach herself to him. Eskel throws his arm over a red haired Fae with a chuckle. 

“You alright, darling?” Jaskier calls over his shoulder. Geralt ‘hmm’s and watches almost fondly as the prince clicks his tongue. 

He looks past Jaskier into the tree line. Between two tall Aspen trees, the air seemed to shimmer. The prince threw his arms open. 

“Welcome, my dear Witcher’s, to Ebberon! Home of the Fae for longer than you can comprehend.”

The king doesn’t seem to share Jaskier’s theatrics, and speaks gruffly.

“Don’t stray from the group. Keep hold of them.” The Fae nod and tighten their grip on their respective Witcher's. Jaskier throws Geralt a wink over his shoulder before leading them through the trees. 

The air seems to fizz as Geralt breathes shallowly. His nose scrunches, strong floral scents frothing around him. The trees tower over them, branches thick and winding, leaves broad and strong. 

Geralt let his head tip back, following a young, blond Faerie with translucent red wings. She flits from a branch to a leaf, joining a group of Fae as they overlook the newcomers. He can hear his brother gasp just behind him as Maddie guides him through tall grass, tutting when he almost stomps on a flatheaded mushroom. 

His jaw drops when he looks to Jaskier. The toe of his boot caches on a root, breath trapped in his throat as Madeleine steadies him. 

The prince’s ears are pointed, beautiful soft yellow wings poke from his back. His eyes are wide, his tongue trapped between needle-like teeth as he grins. His nails almost seem to taper sharply, fingers waggling in a wave. 

There is a chorus of claps as the king brings them to a low stage. The Witcher’s are stood, shoulder to shoulder at the back, the Fae coming to flank the prince. The king greets the crowds of Fae.

“My lovely, loyal people. You know first hand how cruel Man can be. Many of you doubt the alliance with Kaedwen, and we all had our hesitations, but it is my honour to introduce the Witcher’s of Kaer Morhen.”

His voice echoes through the branches, bouncing from the leaves. Geralt watches as some murmur to each other, far too softly for him to pick words from. 

“My people,” Jaskier holds his hands out, drawing everyone's attention back to him. “I promise you, I whole-heartedly support this alliance. Kaedwen has so much to offer us! How long has it been since you’ve been outside, leaving your fears here? Some of you never have. You deserve to see, to experience. To love.”

The air around Jaskier seems to vibrate, confident and declaring. He turns, holding out his hand. 

“Dearheart, come to me.” 

Geralt swallows, his feet moving before he fully considers the implication. Jaskier smiles, pink lips stretching in a reassuring smile. Geralt takes his slender hand, his fingers feeling too bulky between Jaskier’s.

“The Witcher’s have promised to protect us as if we are their own, and we are to return the sentiment. The White Wolf is mine.”

Impulsive, Geralt dips his head to press a kiss to Jaskier’s knuckles. Jaskier lets out a pleased hum. 

Then Geralt hears them.

Cries of _Butcher_ and _Monster. Mutant_ and _Beast_ . _How can you trust a pack of killers?_

He can barely contain the snarl as _Witcher’s whore_ reaches his ears.

“My darling Geralt, kneel.” 

The forest falls silent as Geralt drops to his knees. Jaskier lets go of his hand, settling it atop his head. He focuses on the wooden floor in front of him, Jaskier’s hand warm as it strokes the back of his head. For a fearful second, Geralt realises he would do anything Jaskier asked. Name be damned.

“Thank you, dear.” He turns his attention back to the Fae. His voice is hard and challenging. “Do you dare question, not only the integrity of Kaer Morhen, but of my own Husband?” 

Geralt twists his hands behind his back as he hears scattered mumbles. He knows Jaskier hears them too, his scent taking a bitter tang. 

“Boys, would you mind?” Geralt doesn’t need to turn his head to hear the wordless drop of his brother, Lambert quickly following him to kneel. “My darling Geralt, open your mouth.” 

Geralt swallows, feeling heat rise in his face as Jaskier’s command surges through him. He lets his mouth fall open, a tremor shaking in his legs. Jaskier stares definitively out, eyes scanning the groups of Fae. 

Geralt makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat as Jaskier lays two fingers on his tongue. The action makes the Witcher’s head spin, a blush over his cheeks. 

“You see his claim on me as clearly as my claim on him. You will accept our bind or suffer at my hand.” Geralt makes a choked noise as the fingers stroke over his tongue. “Any more objections?”

He can smell the sweet, smug, lemongrass that surrounds him, as the forest stays silent. 

“Very well.” 

He slips his fingers from between Geralt's lips, pressing them under his chin, bringing him back to shaky knees. 

“Perfect, darling.” Jaskier murmurs, stroking his cheek.

He thinks the king is addressing the forest but there's buzzing in his ears, Jaskier’s eyes so bright and blue. His fingers are soft as they drag across Geralt’s stubble, his breath hitching as Jaskier’s other arm settles around his waist. 

“I don’t think you’re cut out for Faerie air, dearheart.” The prince chuckles, guiding him back into Madeleine's arms. He glances at the other Witcher’s. They were both swaying on the balls of their feet. 

“It can be overwhelming.” Madeleine's voice is soft and silvery in his ear. He ‘hmm’s, leaning into her. His bare forearms still feel warm where Jaskier laid his hands. “If you were human, you know, you’d be passed out on the deck after this much exposure.”

Geralt lets his eyes close. He listens to the king deliver farewells, his nose itching. Jaskier’s bubbly laugh has him blinking slowly. He focuses on his wings, the saffron-like gauze covering his shoulder blades. 

“You doing okay, dearheart?” Jaskier turns his back to the crowd, holding his hands out. Madeleine chuckles as he leans into Jaskier. “Forgot how to use your feet there?” 

Jaskier laughs, pulling Geralt's arm over his shoulder. The movement makes Geralt’s head loll forward He huffs as his vision swirls. 

“Bro, I think we’re high!” Eskel gawks by his left, thick arms wrapped around two slender faeries. Jaskier shushes him gently with a chuckle.

“Bro, I think we’re high.” He whispers loudly, eyes bright and eyebrows raised. Jaskier shakes his head. 

“At least my Witcher is the best behaved, huh?” He laughs again. Geralt's eyes half closing as he gazes at the side of Jaskier’s soft face. 

Geralt doesn’t realise they’re moving until his boot catches on an exposed root. He grumbles, the prince’s hand reassuringly tight on his waist. He’s stronger than Geralt thought a Fae would be, considering how slight his build is.

Geralt tips his head back as they come out of the forest. He sniffs, the air clean and crisp. He keeps his eyes closed, letting Jaskier guide him over the dusty path. 

He listens to the Fae hum as they walk, his boots trampling soft grass. Eskel’s deep voice rumbles into white noise. 

“Here, love. Sit.” Geralt groans lightly as Jaskier settles him gently down. He lazily opens his eyes, smiling up at his husband. Bright blue eyes crinkle as Jaskier grins down at him. He waits until Jaskier has sat, legs crossed, before he rests his head on his husband's thigh. 

Eskel grunts as Maddie lets him fall to the grass, Lambert soon following and curling into his side. 

“That wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be.” Lambert huffs. Geralt hums in agreement, Jaskier's fingers running through his hair. Geralt feels drunk in the harmony, Eskel's legs stretching out over his own. 

He closes his eyes, letting his head spin in a lemongrass mess. Geralt relaxes under Jaskier's touch. The prince starts humming softly, Maddie's silvery voice gentle and soothing.

The afternoon sun is warm on his skin, Jaskier's lips impossibly warmer on his forehead. 

"Dad!" Ciri cries, her bony knees digging hard into his stomach. 

"Fuck, cub." He groans, Eskel barks out a laugh as Ciri settles on his front. 

"Language." Jaskier chastises, fingers never stopping in his hair. Geralt grumbles, smoothing his hands over Ciri's back. She presses her head to his chest, scent happy and pure. 

"Didn't even hear you comin', sneaky lion cub." Geralt grunts with a smile. Ciri giggles proudly. She sighs, turning on her back, arms falling around his sides. 

"Dad?" He hums, resting his head more comfortably on Jaskier's leg. "Tell me a story." 

"A story?" Geralt raises an eyebrow. He makes a noise of surprise as Jaskier drops a kiss on his lips. 

"Do you tell stories often, deartheart?" His breath is hot against his mouth, shirt brushing over Geralt's forehead. 

"Sometimes after a nightmare." Ciri tells the prince seriously. 

"That's true- He told me one about a magic lute under a waterfall once." Lambert chimes in softly, his voice muffled in Eskel's neck. "I can't even remember what it was about but it was nice." 

"Snitch." Geralt chuckles. Eskel kicks at his ankle. 

"Go on then. Get tellin' "

Geralt grumbles, Ciri's head tipping back on his chest. 

"Dad, please!" She drags out the words. "Just a short one?"

"Yeah, just a short one." Jaskier smirks above him.

"Fine." Geralt catches one of the prince's hands in his, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

"The Fae are from tales old, older than Witchers and Sorceresses, griffins and dragons. The Fae's magic has been woven into the very foundations of the world we live in today."

He hears Eskel's breath catch, sandalwood mixing with white sage as Lambert murmurs something comforting in his neck.

"The Fae are kind, benevolent creatures, generous and bold. Once upon a many thousand years ago..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thoroughly enjoyed writing this, thank you so much for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if i missed any tags or made any mistakes! thank you for reading xx
> 
> can find me (if a bit inactive) on insta at eatlead_dieearly


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